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hartsquad · 1 year

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Lovers Lie

Chapter 2. This is a short one. I requested the invite to ao3 so until then I’ll still be posting here. Let me know what you guys think. I’ll be tagging the chapters on my blog to keep track. Check out my main blog @nerd-hotnissa , current obsession Wednesday on netlfix and Wyler (Wednesday x Tyler) on there.

Chapter 2

Maya was sweating. Her hair was coming out of her ponytail, and she needed to catch her breath.

This quarter it was team sports, so Maya chose basketball, for what reason she doesn’t know but she never liked volleyball, she didn’t want to be outside for soccer, so here she was, not understanding why people did this for a profession.

She had to give herself more credit though, even though she was one of the shorter ones in the class she could keep up and played well. Maybe she did enjoy it a little bit because playing kept her mind busy, and she would forget about things. With art she painted the things she felt and thought about but playing basketball gave her the chance to step away and focus on something else.

Basketball was just a hobby though and would never be a career change.

“Alright ladies, gather to the middle please!” called out coach Faye.

Maya and her class all gathered over to the middle breathing heavily, holding basketballs, and drinking water bottles. Maya took a seat on the floor.

Coach Faye walked up. “Okay girls, as you know we normally separate the boys' and girls' gym classes but since we’re down a coach for our 4 quarter sports we’re having to combine the classes and go co-ed.”

A mixed reaction of disgust and excitement from the girls. Some eager to see the boy they like sweating and others disgusted they cannot escape the male population.

Normally there are four coaches/teachers in the gym. One for a solo sport, one for a team sport, one for weights and conditioning, and the fourth for swimming. Since Marvens left for medical leave looks like some of the classes are coming together. Maya wasn’t too fazed about competing with the boys.

The other gym door opened and in came Coach Ryder’s class.

Maya recognized a few of the faces and still wasn’t bothered until she saw his.

Her heart honestly stopped beating for a second, but she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or excitement.

Lucas was looking around the gym, but his eyes must’ve felt hers because he found her and looked straight at her.

Maya recoiled and looked down at her shoes. Was the universe out to get her?

Ryder came up to stand next to Faye.

“Good morning, ladies, I’m sure Coach Faye has let you know about our new co-ed class. We will still be continuing your team sport quarter, but we are also going to begin fitness testing a little early this year so us teachers don’t get behind. Everyone will pick a partner, doesn’t matter who.”

A few giggles escaped the girls and Maya panicked. She knew a lot of people in the class, but their friends were in here with them and normally this wouldn’t make her uneasy, but she feared being partnered with Lucas and fitness testing together. It was close.

Way too close.

She jumped to her feet when she noticed everyone beginning to pair up and Maya had to find someone quick. If she found someone that means she didn’t have to interact with Lucas unless necessary.

Maya felt him before she saw him.

Lucas was walking toward her, and Maya tried to avoid his gaze desperately searching for anyone.

“Maya.”

His voice caused a fire in her stomach.

She froze and shut her eyes. There was no way she could get out of this, but why would he want to partner with her. Everybody probably wanted to be his partner but here he was singling her out.

Maya turned around and looked at him and his face was expressionless but Maya sensed nerves.

“Mm-hmm?”

Her tongue was tied.

“Hart.”

Maya turned to the new voice. It was Brandon, the middle school rebel.

His reputation was now the school dealer but also an honor roll student along with Maya. They developed a real friendship in high school. They’ve partied together and was in Maya’s close friend group and have even spent the night together with their friends after their crazy adventures. There may have been a hookup once a long time ago, but it never meant anything to either of them.

“Wanna be my partner?” Brandon asked.

Maya felt the pressure in her chest leave.

“I was about to ask h-” Lucas started but Maya walked over to Brandon.

“Sure Brandon,” Maya said as she stood next to him “hope you’re not thinking you’ll be able to get a pass at me now.”

“Oh of course not, thought I should just save everyone the trouble of you trying to assault them with a tennis racket.”

Maya chuckled.

Lucas glared at Brandon, then looked back at Maya and just shook his head and walked away.

Maya let out a deep breath and leaned her hands on her knees.

“I didn’t expect that little tryst over the summer to have you running for your life,” Brandon chuckled.

Maya glared up at him and stood back up. “Nothing happened.”

Brandon stepped closer and leaned down. “If nothing happened, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now and your jacket still wouldn’t be in the backseat of my car.”

Her stomach tightened. She wondered where hers had gone after that night. So now Brandon had evidence, but Maya wasn’t going to let him know that.

“Nothing happened,” she said and started to walk away. Maya felt a hand around her arm and turned around to glare at Brnadon, but his face was soft.

They stared at each other for a minute.

“I’m on your side. I’ve always been on your side,” he told her. Brandon looked at her with sincerity and it was not a look she was used to seeing from him. Yea he as a good guy, even if he was the guy to go for some weed, but this was a look she wasn’t used to seeing. He was quiet, tough, quick witted with insults or a counter argument on a debate. A jack of trades, Maya had thought.

Brandon’s gaze traveled down her face. “Friar is dumbass, to let someone like you go.”

Maya pulled herself out of Brandon’s grasp, her hands were clenched though.

A smirk played in his face.

“Calm down, I mean no harm. I just didn’t want him singling you out and putting you on edge. I don’t know what happened, but I know you need someone to have your back and since Kendra isn’t here, I got you Hart.”

The bell rang.

“Looks like we’re partners now.”

Brandon turned and walked away back to the boy's locker room.

So, Brandon knew something, or guessed something happened. Obviously though, since it was his car that everything had transpired in. Then again, how odd they went from being friends to never speaking to suddenly becoming close again, and then back to never speaking. Definitely a sudden shift in the similar group of friends she and Lucas had during the summer.

Maya wasn’t going to worry about it though. It was months ago, and it didn’t matter anymore. All she was trying to do now was put it behind her, never speak to Lucas again unless she had to, and graduate. That was the plan.

As much as she tried to convince herself though, she felt like the universe had other plans.

#chapter 2 #Lucaya #lucaya fanfiction #lucaya fanfic #lucaya fic #lucas friar #maya hart #girl meets world

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etherealino · 3 years

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fake dating, skz.

ot8 scenario.

content/warning(s): fake dating au, just small scenarios. some are idolverse, some aren’t. swearing, hating on jype, nagging mother. tell me if i missed something!

note: i might do full length fics for each babies. what do u guys think?

chan. —

the one where he’s being pestered by his best friend to bring a plus one to his best friend’s wedding and it can’t be a random person but someone he’s actually dating.

minho looks at chan who just whines. “please?” minho says which is unusually gentle than his nagging teasing tone. “it’s been years and i think it’s time for you to finally go back to dating.”

“i will bring someone, i promise.” chan says, smiling lightly. minho could be annoying about this whole dating thing but he knows minho just wants him to be as happy as he was before.

“not just anyone?” minho says and chan nods. “someone you’re dating.”

chan looks up, eyes widening and minho frowns. what the hell does he do? chan knows how determined minho is, he won’t stop. “hyung, jeongin’s on the verge of asking his girlfriend of marrying him and—”

“y/n.” chan cuts him off with the first name that pops in his mind causing minho to raises his eyebrow. “i’m bringing y/n.”

“i said someone you’re—” minho cuts himself off, looking at chan with his eyes widening. he looks behind, seeing you having a conversation with his fiancé probably helping her with something on the wedding as she is showing you a sample from the magazine. minho looks back to chan who looks at him nervously. “hyung?”

“two weeks.” chan lies.

“why didn’t you tell me before?” minho asks and chan shrugs.

“i.. wanted to be sure.” chan says, seeing minho’s shock expression not going away and is probably not going away anytime so soon. “but now, i’m sure.”

“then, i’ll tell my girl that y/n will sit with you.” minho says and chan nods, mumbling a thanks. when minho’s fiancé pulls away from you to go to minho, chan immediately goes to you to explain the mess he has dragged you into.

oh, how frustrated you are going to be. chan could already see it.

minho. —

the one where you two are roommates and he can’t help but overhear how your mother would always bug you about not having a boyfriend among other things, so he decides to just save your ass because deep down you’re one of the few people in his list who he would do everything for.

throughout dinner, all minho has ever heard how your mom would pick on the littlest things that you would do and not do. minho was starting to get irritated because clearly, your mother doesn’t know how much of an amazing person you are (but of course, he’d rather go to jail than let you know that).

as minho cleans on the table, you are still by the door with your mom.

“i didn’t want to bring this up earlier right in front of your roommate because it would be humiliating,” your mother says and minho rolls his eyes. as if she hasn’t humiliated you the whole night. “but do you ever plan on having a boyfriend?”

“mom, i just graduated college. i have a lot of things to focus on, i don’t have the time—”

“well, do it faster. no one is available forever.”

that was it. minho couldn’t hold it any longer. he just wants your mom to stop and let her know how unbelievably amazing you are. as he puts the table rug down, he loudly says, “my love, can you help me?”

you turn your head to him, looking at him and minho doesn’t do anything but shrug. “y/n, love,” he calls again, walking to you and acting as if he was surprised to see your mother is still there on the doorway. “mrs. y/l/n, i’m sorry. i thought you went off already.”

“are you two together?” your mom slowly asks and your jaw drops, minho placing his hands on your shoulders. “why didn’t you tell me?” she asks and you look at minho.

“we decided to keep it between the two of us for now.” minho says and you let out a noise, eyes widening at minho as you pull away from his hold.

“you could have just told me, you silly girl.” your mom says and you look at her. “alright, i’ll be going. you help your boyfriend with the cleaning. remember the things i told you and bring minho by the house when there’s a gathering if he’s allowed to.”

you blink. “o-okay.” you stutter, leaning forward to kiss your mom on the cheek. minho does the same and your mom smiles. “take care, ma.”

“stay safe, mrs. y/l/n.” minho says and she nods, thanking the two of you as she walks to the elevator. you shut the door, glaring at minho. damn, this is going to be a long night of scolding.

changbin. —

the one where people think he’s dating an idol and keep insisting that that person is the inspiration behind his songs but in order to not drag that other idol into the mess, he drops the name of his non-idol best friend that nobody’s ever heard of.

changbin jumps when he hears the door of his room barge open and he sees you glaring down at him. “what. the. hell?” you grit your teeth, fuming at your best friend as you glare at him. changbin whines, knowing how fucked up did he do about the whole situation.

sure, he was thinking about the other idol who he never has exchanged at least one word with but he never though about his best friend. he was.. caught up in the moment.

“y/n, i’m really sorry. i didn’t think this would bring so much chaos.”

“you think?!”

changbin whines. he may be all buff and strong and one of the most feared in stray kids but when it comes to you, he’ll fold even before you come at him. “y/n, i’m so sorry. i wasn’t thinking. plus, you’re profession is different from us they wouldn’t just..” changbin trails off when he sees you tapping your foot impatiently. right, dispatch could be a big bitch.

“y/n,” changbin calls, standing up from his bed and walking forward to place his hands on your shoulders. “just please, go along with it? just for a few months, i promise. i wil protect you from the reporters, i swear. just.. do this favor for me, please.”

you sigh, brushing your fingers through your hair. you wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him in and changbin returns the hug. “fine.” you say and changbin sigh in relief. “also, go take a bath. you stink.”

changbin laughs, kissing your temple.

hyunjin. —

the one where the company is being a huge pain in the ass by telling the two of you to pull a public stunt which is fake dating one another.

“what?” you and hyunjin said in unison. you looked at your manager in disbelief who just shrugs, shaking her head in disagreement as she turns away with a sigh.

“just for a couple of months.” the staff says in a gentle, manipulative tone. “just to get the heat off of the company.”

hyunnjin brushes his hand through his long locks, hiding his frustration even though he knows you feel the same just as he does. you sigh, putting your forehead on your palm as you close your eyes.

“it will help you with your upcoming comeback.” the staff says to you and you visibly scoff, causing your manager to lightly nudge you behind. you groan, looking away. “it will also help you with the votings and streamings.” the staff tells hyunjin and he only looks down, playing with his fingers.

silence takes over, everyone feeling your and hyunjin’s anger to the staff. but after a few minutes, hyunjin speaks up. “how many months?”

silence takes over again and you look at the woman in front of you who sighs. “12 months.” she sheepishly smiles.

“that’s a whole ass year.” you say and she smiles.

“we’ll send dispatch something tomorrow. so just be ready.” she says. “you’re dismissed.” the moment those two words left her lips, you and hyunjin immediately rose up to exit the office. when your manager closes the door, you went straight to the wall, covering your face with your hands as you lean against the wall with a groan leaving your lips.

you feel a hand on your shoulder and you look up to see the tall long haired boy. “hey.” you greet and hyunjin chuckles.

“we’ll get through this.” hyunjin encourages and you smile, holding your fist out.

“yeah, we will.” you said and hyunjin looked at your fist, blinking then back to your eyes.

“i’m going to be your boyfriend tomorrow and you’re giving me a fist bump?” hyunjin deadpans and you laugh, lightly pushing him as he laughs loudly.

jisung. —

the one where he’s your best friend and someone takes a liking on you but you’re too soft to reject someone so you randomly ask jisung to be your fake boyfriend.

“what do you want?” jisung says and you pout lightly, looking into his eyes.

“ji..” you softly call and jisung crosses his arms over his chest. “i think.. changbin’s going to confess tomorrow.”

“and?”

“i need you to swoop in and tell him we’re dating.” you say as you play on chips of his door. jisung’s eyes widen, laughing lightly as he blinks.

“come again?” jisung says and you whine, looking at him. “no!”

“why not?” you ask.

“just say you like me instead of pulling this stunt!” jisung says.

“hey, i don’t!” you say, scrunching your nose as you look down. “i just really don’t want to confront changbin about it and you know me. i’d just end up saying yes and—”

“it’s okay to say no.” jisung says but you only pout looking at him. jisung pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “y/n, i swear to god—”

“free cheesecakes as long as this goes on.”

“—you’re the bestest friend ever.”

felix. —

the one where you’ve been wanting to experience what’s it like to have a boyfriend so felix being the best friend, he lets you have the experience you deserve once you have an actual boyfriend. (got it from here.)

“lix,” you called and felix turns to you with a smile on his face. “i’m kind, right?”

“yeah,” felix answered. you truly are. whenever felix is in need of your help, you would always be there. and by always, i mean even if you’re about to do something for yourself, you’d put felix first.

“i’m not that dumb, right?” you ask.

“you’re actually really smart, y/n.” felix answers. you are. felix would always ask for your help when he’s having trouble with some subjects. and everytime you two would get into talking and there’s a test that’s to be taken by that day, felix knows you didn’t study. you never study. but how the hell do you still get high scores?

“i’m not that ugly, right?” you asked.

felix looks at you weirdly, eyebrows scrunched together as he shakes his head ‘no’. “everyone finds you extremely attractive, y/n. your beauty is simple, unlike the others.” felix says and you blush lightly, but still you want to continue with your drama.

“then why don’t i have a boyfriend?” you asked and felix just chuckles at you, continuing on doing his work. “hey,” you said with a pout. “i’m serious.”

felix softly smiles at you and places the slate and marker on his chair. “i’ll be your boyfriend,” felix answers and leans in to place a kiss on your forehead. your eyes widens, but felix continues to move as if nothing happened.

still with the soft smile on his face, felix grabs the slate and goes outside to seungmin.

seungmin. —

the one where you both decide to fake date for the sake of the annual movie fest happening in your university and the genre assigned to you is romance but seungmin, the director and you, the scriptwriter have no experience in that area which makes it hard for the two of you to bring it to life.

you softly sigh, rereading jisung’s text over and over again. seungmin gazes at you, noticing the expression that he was unable to decipher. “what did jisung say this time?” he asks and you look at him, turning the phone screen to him. seungmin reads the test and he leans on his seat, not removing his eyes on the text.

well, it’s not bad actually.

“what do you think?” seungmin asks and you shrug, softly sighing.

“it’s not a bad idea.” you softly say. “are you alright with it?”

“well, it is a good idea and we could work on it together.” seungmin says and you nod. “so, we’re doing this?”

“i guess?” you say, a bit unsure of it. you look at your wrist watch, seeing the time making you fix your things. “i have class in a few minutes, seung.”

seungmin nods, standing up as he helps you. when you sling your bag on your shoulder, he takes your laptop bag putting it on his shoulder and grabs your books as well. “what are you doing?” you ask.

“what kind of boyfriend lets his girlfriend go to class alone and on top of it, with so much bag as if she’s going to run away from home?” seungmin deadpans and you look at him.

“oh, we start now?” you mumble.

“we only have four weeks to pass the script.” seungmin says and you chuckle, nodding with a sigh.

“gosh, you need to be my boyfriend to help me with carrying my stuff.” you mumble and seungmin looks at you, pulling his tongue out.

jisung: this maybe stupid but also makes sense

jisung: date each other even just until you passed the script

jisung: just so you know what to do and stuff

jisung: just don’t fall in love

jisung: but if you do, please mention me in your wedding vows and speeches

jeongin. —

the one where he thought it would be a good idea to get his fangirls off his back by telling them he’s dating you in secret.

jeongin knocks into your apartment, giving you his charming cute smile. you raise your eyebrow, lightly chucking. “what’s up, yang?” you say, looking at him. jeongin gestures with his hands to go inside your apartment and you open your door wide to let him in.

“you know how were the bestest of friends?” jeongin asks, looking at you with his smile that not even a second did it fade.

you look at him. “no, not really.” you deadpan and jeongin sighs, frowning as he looks at you. “what do you need?”

“remember when you mentioned about the girls in uni going crazy about me?” jeongin says and you nod. “i kind of told them that i was dating someone in secret.” jeongin told you and you nod.

“you are?” you ask and jeongin shakes his head. “so you lied just to get them off your back?” you asked and jeongin nodded. “okay, so?”

“they wouldn’t let me go until i tell them who it is.” jeongin said and you nodded. jeongin just stares at you and you raise your eyebrow, not getting where the conversation is going. jeongin slowly tilts his head, staring at you and your eyes widen, hitting his arm.

“you told them it was me?!” you exclaimed.

jeongin blinks at you. “ow?” he says and you groan.

“jeongin!”

“i know it wasn’t the smartest decision—”

“the smartest?” you repeat with emphasis because it wasn’t even smarter, it wasn’t smart. it was the dumbest. ever. “jeongin, those girls are oing to—”

“i’ll give you hyunjin hyung’s number after all of this is over.” jeongin cuts you off and you look at him. “it was obvious. he’s just... dense as fuck.”

you sigh, “you pick me up tomorrow at 7.”

“thank you, y/n!” he exclaims, hugging you as he presses your body against his. “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“alright, go home.” you say and jeongin laughs, pulling away from you. jeongin giggles, kissing your cheek as he exits your apartment to go home.

make me do it a full length au thanks. lmAO SDHBJHS,, im going to !! tell me if u want to be tagged <3

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the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo · 3 years

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Fall Into You | Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Alright my friends. Here is my latest piece of insanity.

It is completely raw and unedited. So, if there are a ton of mistakes, I apologize in advance.

What a whirlwind thing this was. I literally only planned to write the last little bit at the end, that was the entire premise and then 7000 more words came along with it.

-----

This is a partial crossover fic.

TFATWS | The Alienist | Dr. Strange | Loki | universe all mushed together in bits and pieces.

But mostly The Alienist.

Hopefully the characterizations feel okay. Dr. Kreizler and John Moore can be a bit tricky to write and I've never written them before. So, please bear with me on this.

Buckle up. It's going to be a doozy. Kinda.

-----

Word Count: 6,900 - ish

What happens when you wind up 124 years into the past and meet a relative of Baron Helmut Zemo's?

A lot.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was early evening and you were perched on one of Dr. Kreizler's fine couches, in front of the fireplace, reading a book.

You were waiting for Stevie to drop by and drag you to some musical street performance not terribly far from Dr. Kreizler's residence. Normally, you would have stayed hidden indoors, but you took a liking to the kid when you first met him, and decided you couldn't let him down.

Hopefully Stevie wouldn't drag you out too long, otherwise Dr. Kreizler would start to worry. Although, he would never outright admit to it, but it was the subtle things he did that indicated his concern. Or perhaps it was annoyance. That wouldn't surprise you either. You were loud and very talkative. He'd probably grateful to have to leave his house; so he can finally get some peace and quiet.

Dr. Kreizler always kept to himself and rarely made a display of his feelings to anyone, but you were a good friend of his in the short time you had come to know him. So, you got little peeks into what lay hidden away.

He was gracious enough to allow you stay in his home until you could figure out a way to get back to your own time. One minute you were talking to Wong inside Dr. Strange's sanctum in New York, and the next a portal opened up underneath you and you were falling.

After travelling through an empty void that seemed to go on forever, you finally exited through the other side, which landed you in front of a police precinct. You had looked around after picking yourself up and realized you were in quite the pickle. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was not your New York.

People were starting to stare at as you took in your surroundings. You initially thought it was because you had randomly fallen out of the sky, but realization had dawned on you; it was because of your clothing.

Ah, yes. You suppose compared to what all the other women were wearing, you were a sight to behold. Jeans, a forest green blouse, and short brown leather jacket, would draw some attention, when all the other women were dressed so conservatively in dresses. You laughed nervously backing away from the small crowd on the sidewalk. You calmly but quickly darted over to a newsie holding up a paper for sale.

You paid the kid a dollar and snatched the paper out of his hand. Not paying attention in the least to his shouts of joy on making so much off of one measly paper, but you were too focused on finding out what time period you were in.

You caught the date at the top of the newspaper: April 1st, 1897.

April Fool's Day.

Typical, something like this would happen to you. Joke's on them, as someone is going to have a hell of time trying to figure out where you went. You're quite sure Wong was trying to sort through what happened and had already calling Strange.

Well, you hope he had.

You put down the paper and tried to think of what to do, but a small crowd of people were still stopped and whispering to each other, pointing in your general direction.

One man was gesturing in your direction and started shouting, but not at you.

"Hey Kreizler, this one looks like a crazy. Should probably haul her off to Bellevue!"

You raised your eyebrow at the man, but didn't say anything, instead choosing to turn and see who he was yelling at.

A very well dressed man wearing a bowler hat was walking down the steps of the police precinct in a rushed sort of manner. He had a cane with him, and it appeared his right arm was tucked against his body as if protecting it. A few steps behind him there was another man darting to catch up with him, also well dressed and carrying what seemed to be a sketchbook.

The guy on the street had yelled at the gentleman in the bowler hat again, which you had assumed at this point was Dr. Kreizler. As the two men reached the bottom of the steps and were about to step into their carriage, the incessant yelling had managed to grab Kreizler's attention. At least it seemed so, because the man with the cane had paused and turned his attention towards the direction of the yelling.

You could see from his body language he wasn't all that interested, but when his eye-line landed on you, he backed away from getting inside.

The other gentleman that was accompanying him, the one with the sketchbook, said something to him, but Dr. Kreizler just waved him off as he started to walk over to you.

Great.

You look over to the rude gentleman that had now drawn even more attention to you and gave him an unappreciative stare.

You steeled yourself, ready for whatever this stranger was going to say to you, but your guard had dropped slightly upon getting a better look at his face.

No way.

This was not possible.

The man that had come over to you was the spitting image of one genius, criminal mastermind and general pain in your ass, you knew all too well. One who's currently locked up in The Raft.

If it wasn't for the beard, you'd swear you were looking at Baron Helmut Zemo.

As Dr. Kreizler stopped a few feet from you, he tilted his head to the side and eyed you warily, but not unkindly.

That head tilt, a family trait for sure. Zemo had to be some distant relative of this man in some way, there's no chance they aren't with how closely the two resemble each other. She'd have to make a trip to The Raft and ask him about it sometime, if she ever got back home.

"My dear, you seem out of sorts. Are you alright?" the man inquired, gazing at the small gathering of people and then back to you.

"I kinda stick out like a sore thumb, yeah?" You laughed as you answer his question, peering down at your outfit.

"Quite," he replied.

You saw while he may be cautious around you, you've seem to grab his interest with the scrutiny and intensity of his gaze.

"If I may introduce myself, my name is Doctor Laszlo Kreizler," the gentleman stated.

Ah, so this was indeed the man who was being called out from the street. You noticed he didn't extend his hand in greeting, but then again perhaps it wasn't a pertinent gesture for the time period either. So, you didn't take offense to it.

Your eyeline moved behind Dr. Kreizler and could see his friend at the carriage watching with interest, but also growing impatience.

You gave a kind smile as you introduced yourself and added, "Thank you for humoring the nosy man over there, but I'm not in need of a doctor. I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your day."

"Not in the least. And I may be a doctor, but I am an alienist more specifically," Kreizler explained.

Your eyebrows shot into your forehead and then contemplated his title. An alienist? Where had you heard that before? If you remembered correctly, an alienist was someone who assessed individuals for competence?

Oh.

The shouty man had mentioned Bellevue. Okay, now you understood.

"An alienist! That term is...." you paused trying to think of a better way to phrase you response. "The term is outdated where I'm from. Instead we simply acknowledge your specific doctorate profession as psychologists, since the very definition of what you do is to study the mind and behavior of individuals," you answered, satisfied with your explanation.

"Outdated. How intriguing. Perhaps we could continue this conversation away from prying eyes and gossipy busy-bodies?" Kreizler asked.

You wouldn't be able to read it on his face, but you can tell you've piqued his interest even more so now with his body language. And his eyes had this sparkle in them as you spoke of his profession so specifically.

Though you felt you could trust this man, you couldn't take the chance that he might, in fact, lure you into his carriage and ship you off to the nearest mental institution, such as Bellevue Hospital.

You'd be lying if you weren't equally intrigued by this enigma of a man standing before you. The resemblance to Baron Zemo was uncanny, and that alone made you want to find out more about him; however, Zemo was not to be trusted as far as you could throw him. Though he did have his moments. You'd give him some credit. Doesn't mean distrustful behavior runs in the family, but it also could. It was a difficult decision.

Your eyes narrowed assessing Dr. Kreizler as you came to decision.

"Shouldn't you give me a mental health assessment test before asking a complete stranger to travel off to who knows where with you? Why shouldn't I be suspicious you aren't going to drop me off at the nearest institute? No offense," you replied warily.

"Thank you!" the man with the sketchbook at the carriage shouted at both you and Dr. Kreizler, clearly in agreement with your answer.

You snickered at his sarcastic reply, but attempted to cover your ever growing smile by coughing.

The corner of Dr. Kreizler's mouth ticked up in a smile as well.

"No my dear, if anything you've just proven you're at least slightly more sane than my counterpart, Mr. John Moore," Dr. Kreizler shook his head and jutted his thumb behind him.

"Heard that Laszlo!" Moore responded with indignation.

"That was the point John," Dr. Kreizler answered back with dry wit.

Yeah, she liked him already.

"Shall we?" Kreizler turned slightly to gesture to his carriage.

You sighed internally. Why the hell not? You had nothing better to do and no idea what your next move should be trying to get home. Dr. Kreizler would no doubt be curious about your attire and that alone with most likely bring up a slew of never ending questions. You'd have to be careful how to explain your situation and make sure what you revealed was limited, but truthful. You wanted to tell him the truth about where you were from, but you needed to word it in a way that doesn't make you out to be a crazy person, but present the information with facts and evidence that Dr. Kreizler could not refute. Luckily you had some tech with you that could prove your point rather efficiently should the need arise you convince him of what time period you come from in the future. 124 years it a length period of time. It would be difficult for anyone to accept your explanation, but Dr. Kreizler seemed to be different. Let's hope you aren't wrong about him.

"I accept your offer Dr. Kreizler, thank you," you spoke kindly.

You were formally introduced to Mr. Moore and to Stevie before getting in the carriage. Mr. Moore seemed uneasy, but went along with Dr. Kreizler's acceptance of you. He was a trusting friend of his, you could tell right away. And something told you, Dr. Kreizler was a tough nut to crack and didn't seem to be the type of person who might have very many. Only a close few.

"What made you decide to take Dr. Kreizler up on his offer so quickly," Moore asked standing outside the carriage as Stevie was getting the horses ready.

Dr. Kreizler had held the door open for you and waited patiently.

You looked at Dr. Kreizler before turning back to Mr. Moore, "You mean besides his sparkling personality?" you winked and got in the carriage.

John leaned into Kreizler before adjusting his hold on his sketchbook and climbing into the carriage himself.

"Oh, well I like her already Laszlo," he grinned incessantly and gave Kreizler a clap on the back.

You saw Dr. Kreizler bend his head down in amused exasperation as a small huff of laughter sounded with the movement. He sighed somewhat dramatically before getting in the carriage and closing the door.

"You know, I've never actually ridden in one of these before," you say slightly awed.

Both Moore and Kreizler gave you confusing looks before Dr. Kreizler used his cane to tap on the rear enclosure signaling Stevie to head home.

Home. Well, this should be interesting indeed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You closed your book with a snap and slumped into the couch you were perched on. It had been six months, since that day. Six months, you've been trapped in this pocket of 1897.

You had reflected back on how well John and Dr. Kreizler had taken the explanation you were from the future. As you told your story, your only requirement was that they wait until the very end before asking any questions. That gave you the chance to be very methodical about how you explained the future and how it was you ended up in 1897, which to be fair, you don't know exactly how that portal opened still, but magic was involved to say the very least.

It was oddly reminiscent of when Loki used the space stone, which gave her pause. All the infinity stones had been destroyed, and yet you knew that there was an errant 2012 Loki running around the universe with one. It is plausible, he could factor into this, but how or why you, you have no idea.

After you had explained your fanatical circumstance, to help prove you weren't absolutely off your rocker and have Dr. Kreizler change his mind about you, you showed them your phone.

Yes, there may not be any service available, but you could still access all your photos and videos and holographic imagery, etc. That was what allowed John and Dr. Kreizler to accept your story; paired with your unique clothes; they had a surprisingly open mind. John had gaped like a fish for a good 10 minutes before Dr. Kreizler told him to get over it already. John was somewhat outraged that he wasn't more shocked by your existence. But like all things, Dr. Kreizler took everything in stride, which was quite a relief to you. He was incredibly understanding and offered a room in his home to you until you were able to get back to your own time. You made a promise to Dr. Kreizler that you would never lie to him, about anything. It was the least you could do since he opened up his home and essentially part of his life to you.

You understood why he was an expert in his field. His patience and intellect allowed him to be open-minded and grasp concepts others word merely scoff at. However, there was another side to that coin; he was also closed off, and could at times, be calculating and manipulative. Though, none of these traits were used in any nefarious manners, they were there all the same.

He reminded you of Zemo to be sure in this regard. Some personality traits apparently do get passed down through the generations. In some ways, after meeting Dr. Kreizler, you felt you knew Helmut Zemo a bit better. And somehow, you missed him. Not that you were ever particularly close to him, but the time you spent with him in Latvia with Sam and Bucky forever altered your opinion of him.

So while you've been living at Dr. Kreizler's residence, in your spare time, you had been working different avenues of how to achieve ways to get home. You couldn't just solely rely on your friends to get you out of this mess. So, while Dr. Kreizler was at work, you enlisted the help of Stevie to run down leads of potential scientist and gathering of general information of the time period to help you put together some sort of road map. None had turned out to be very promising.

You had, over time, gotten more acclimated to living in 1897, though you mostly refused to wear the clothing of the time period. John Moore would always comment about how you would draw attention in the public eye, should you dare to go out. But you refused to give in most of the time, saying that 1897 would just have to catch up to your fashion sense, and you weren't about to apologize for it. If you were going to be stuck here, you were going to be stuck here, comfortably. You fondly remember Dr. Kreizler's reaction. He seemed pleased, possibly proud of you in that moment. Probably because you had refused to conform to the times, and set your own rules to live by. Not giving in to anyone.

The question lingered, how exactly did you get away with living in this time without having to dress in the clothing of the period? Well, a friend of yours, Scott Lang, had gifted you a device that allowed you to chose one object to shrink and return to it's normal size. So, of course, since you traveled so often with the Sam, Bucky and the other Avengers, you chose your wardrobe. You were just thankful you had it on you already when you got dumped into that portal. So, essentially you had all your clothes with you, making things a bit easier.

Life was not fast paced here, which made things a bit difficult for you. You were used to always being on the go, another crisis to fight through, another area of the world that needed help. But here, here everything was, for the most part, quiet.

It drove you nuts sometimes. Made you antsy. You managed to weasel your way into helping John, Sara and Dr. Kreizler on one of their serial killer cases recently to pass the time. Dr. Kreizler was unhappy at first. You were able to prove your usefulness though with advanced techniques and theories on how to potentially catch the killer in question. Be that as it may, Dr. Kreizler still seemed grumpy, if that were the correct word to use, about you working on the case. You confronted him about it one evening, but he glossed over the whole thing. He was holding back, but what that was, you weren't sure. Maybe he still didn't fully trust you yet. It was a fair assumption, but he was always so hard to read. Though you've managed to get a few good laughs out of him from time to time. Those were the days that really made you smile. Seeing him happy, as most of the time he was always so guarded. It made you feel like you and Dr. Kreizler shared this little secret when no one else was around.

Dr. Kreizler let himself relax ever so slightly around you, but it was far and fleeting. On rare occasions. You savored all those memories and tucked them away. Everyone was so refined and conservative in their mannerisms. You missed just wanting to hug someone. You craved some sort of physical affection, and it was hard, realizing just how different the times were from the future. They weren't terrible by any means, but the social norms of the times had been trying on you, to say the very least. Dr. Kreizler, ever astute, had picked up on this.

He had been gracious enough to offer himself if you ever needed to hug someone. This had been roughly 4 months into your stay at Dr. Kreizler's. You both had gotten more comfortable around the other, and even had a routine of sorts. You had thanked him for his offer, and told him you would not abuse the privilege he had bestowed on you.

Something told her there was more to it, but you hadn't dwelled on it, you were simply appreciative of his friendship.

However more recently, it was more than just friendship you felt. You kept squashing your feelings down, telling yourself this was the worst possible time to develop feelings for someone. Especially someone like Dr. Kreizler. There would never be a happy ending. At some point, you would return home, and that would be that. But there was that nagging sensation in the back of your mind, reminding you, you might not ever get back home. You tried to reason to yourself that you were possibly transferring some of your fondness of Zemo to Dr. Kreizler because of how he reminds you of him. But then you were just lying to yourself. Dr. Kreizler was a person all on his own and one of a kind. You knew better, you were just fighting yourself tooth and nail to live in denial a bit longer.

Footsteps from the kitchen were headed in your direction knocking you out of your musings.

You twisted on the couch to see Dr. Kreizler had returned home from his institute.

"Dr. Kreizler! Good evening," you voiced into the low lit parlor room.

"Good evening to you as well, I trust your day was fruitful?" Dr. Kreizler inquired, coming to rest on the opposite end of the couch.

"It was, thank you. I was somewhat restless earlier, so I took it upon myself to work on the cryptogram the killer left his last victim, with the hopes of figuring out his next location before he strikes," you sheepishly stated.

Dr. Kreizler ruefully smiled at you and shook his head. At one time, he might have gotten upset, but he had been taking your antics more in stride, and you managed to be helpful providing much needed information. So, he'd act unhappy, but silently was thrilled.

"And did you uncover anything useful?" Kreizler queried, he got up from his seat and walked over to the chalk board.

"Not completely, I believe I've broken the code word and the book that the killer has been using to write his cryptograms, but I have yet to comb through all the evidence to gather the page numbers, line and word number to crack the full message. I planned on working on it when I got back with Stevie later this evening," you happily expressed while fidgeting with the watch on your wrist.

"Impressive work. And what book has our killer been using?" Kreizler asked, eyes still going over the work on the board.

"Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. You'd think we could have figured that one out sooner given our killer's eclectic methods of murdering people," you answered sarcastically.

Dr. Kreizler bent his knees in utter annoyance, "Of course it is. Of course. How ridiculous to have missed such an obvious choice."

You smiled knowingly. He was irritated he hadn't figured it out sooner.

A companionable silence continued for a few minutes after his outburst.

Dr. Kreizler was still staring at the board with mild interest when he spoke next, "May I ask you a personal question?"

You had just reached over to place the book on the coffee table next to you when he asked his question and you froze mid motion.

Dr. Kreizler generally didn't push too much into your personal life, so this was somewhat out of left field for him. Never-the-less, you recovered after a beat and placed the book on the table.

"Of-of course Dr. Kreizler. I told you I would always be truthful with you regarding anything. Please, go ahead," you answered, motioning for him to continue.

"Why do you always regard me as Dr. Kreizler and not by my first name?" he questioned softly, almost hesitantly.

This was not the question you thought he would ask. There were a million questions he could have chose, but it was this one he went with.

This really was personal.

You glanced down at your hands sitting in your lap as you pondered how to answer his questions. You could lie about it, and he'd be none the wiser, but it's not who you are. And you promised.

Dr. Kreizler went on to further express his inquiry with a bit more confidence, "You call John Moore by his first name and the same with Ms. Howard, including our other friends we work with, but not me. Why?"

You opened your mouth to answer him when the front door slammed open and Stevie came barging in.

"You ready?" he exclaimed loudly. Stevie was clearly excited at the prospect of showing off his musical talent. "Oh, excuse me Dr. Kreizler, I didn't realize you'd gotten home yet. Thought you were working late," Stevie took off his hat and looked sheepish as he apologized for the disruption in his home.

You sighed. This was your saving grace. You could probably make an excuse and make a run for it with Stevie. You mulled over what to do, battling with the decision.

"Hey Stevie. Nice to see you too! Go on outside, I'll be right there. I just need to put my coat on," you laugh at his enthusiasm.

He nodded at you and dashed back down the hallway and out the door. You could hear one last shout as he exited, "Okay, but don't be too long, we're going to be late!"

Dr. Kreizler gave a look of displeasure at Stevie's unrefined outburst, but didn't say anything as he knows his antics all too well from over the years.

You stood up grabbing Dr. Kreizler's attention.

"Walk me to the door?" you ask, jutting your head in the direction of where your coat hangs.

"Do you plan on providing me with an answer?" he kindly jabbed as he nodded his agreement to follow you out.

You outwardly sighed, trying to figure out how to best answer his question. As you both walked to the front door, you start to answer him.

"Okay, so I address you as Dr. Kreizler 33% of the time, because you deserve the respect that comes with that title. You went to school for many years, and you earned it. So, it's only fair to address you as such," you tell him confidently.

A completely reasonable and partial explanation, you thought.

You both reached the front door, and you grabbed your jacket. Dr. Kreizler, the gentleman that he is, assisted you in putting your coat on. You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, making sure you looked okay before heading out.

You caught Dr. Kreizler staring at you in the mirror as you adjusted a stray hair that had fallen onto your face.

"You look lovely," he quietly voiced.

You turned to face him as he had opened the door for you and stepped outside.

"Thank you," you said, a bit bashful by his sudden compliment.

His expression had gotten softer and his eyes were glowing in the evening lit night.

Your resolve was crumbling even more so now.

"And the other 67%?" Kreizler softly spoke, head cocked to the side.

"Hey - Miss! We need to be going!" Stevie cried.

You turned to Stevie and hollered, "One mo, Stevie! Don't lose your head!"

"I'm sorry I have to go otherwise Stevie is going to have a coronary," you apologized to Dr. Kreizler.

You walked down a few steps, but stopped. You couldn't not answer him.

You go up a step but not completely back to where you where standing in front of Dr. Kreizler. You inhaled a deep breath and exhaled before continuing, looking up to see Dr. Kreizler eyeing you with slight confusion and anticipation with your hesitance to answer his question in full.

"And the other 67% of the time, I call you Dr. Kreizler because..because," you drifted off closing your eyes. You open them again with quiet resolve shining through, finding your confidence. You take another step up to now stand just a foot away from where Dr. Kreizler was.

"Because, I love you Laszlo. And I use your professional title as a barrier, to - to remind myself I have boundaries. It's just easier to separate you this way or well, to keep myself living in denial," you quietly and defeatedly said, laying it all out for him.

You wanted to open your mouth to say something else to him, to let him know it was okay he didn't feel the same way, but you could never quite form the words that needed to come out.

The shock was written clearly on his face. You had completely gob-smacked this man. His eyes had widened considerably and his jaw had gone slack from your answer.

But he never said anything back. You weren't expecting him to.

So instead, you did what you did best. Ran.

"You've got your answer. I-I really have to go now, I'll see you later," you stuttered out, suddenly drained from your revelation.

You took one last glance at Dr. Kreizler before making a mad dash for it with Stevie.

You were gone before Dr. Kreizler recovered from what just happened. And you never got to see the expression on his face after.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tfatws #helmut zemo #mcu fic #crossover #my writing

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juminsmysticmc · 3 years

Note

Hey, it’s me, the one who request the moth headcanon, sorry about the trouble and if it’s okay, instead I would like to see an MC who’s major is digital arts and animation. If not, it’s fine, just have a great day.

RFA + Minor Trio with a Mc who's major is digital arts and animations

Hey! It was no trouble at all! I hope that it’s okay for you tho, I am happy that you could request something different! I hope you enjoy this one too! Have a nice day!

Jumin

Your husband observed you. Ever since he installed a room for you alone in his penthouse, you could finally work from home a bit more.

He hadn’t realized that even before you came into the RFA, he had already worked with you.

Your major, digital arts and animation, was often used for his advertising or other programs.

You often wanted to meet the CEO, but since he always thought that you would be just a gold digger, he always rejected you, just making Jaehee send emails with the things he wanted to have inserted.

Well, today he regretted his choice back then.

Instead, he observed you.

You were working on a new project.

,,How many years did you have to study? I mean, you have so many majors… Design Director, Storyboard Director, I didn’t know, you were multitalented, my love,’’ he praised you.

You even worked a lot with the audio.

You looked up and smiled at your husband.

,,Thank you, my love. I’m trying to make your latest project work. Wanna see?’’ you asked him.

However he knew that your work would be amazing and wanted to have it be a surprise rather than get spoiled.

Zen

Your boyfriend never understood how you could be such a good multitasker.

You could cook, set the table, chat with Jaehee, and even post something on your blog.

But once he saw you at work, he understood.

It had something to do with your job.

You had to work in different kinds of media at the same time.

,,This isn’t just one,’’ you told him and scrolled through your phone.

Your long hair was in your way so you put it away with one hand.

,,I have to work with the sound, video, and stop-motion graphics at the same time. I do this and much more, but I don’t want to annoy you,’’ you laughed as you looked up.

,,You don’t annoy me, Mrs. Director,’’ he laughed and kissed you.

You were even the director of a whole section and helped new students get into the job.

,,Okay, so, see this video?’’ you showed him an animated movie you just got via email.

,,This was made by my students, but she used the wrong program because the audio is slightly separated from the video itself,’’ you told him.

He hadn’t noticed anything at first, but after you told him, he saw it too.

,,And you noticed after a few seconds? You’re amazing!’’ he smiled and looked over your shoulders. You were still cooking.

Yoosung

Your husband wondered why he never saw you or met you since your college wasn’t that far away from his building.

But thank God both of you finally met thanks to the RFA.

He was also amazed by you because you were pretty famous among students.

You even had your own blog and of course you programmed everything yourself.

It looked amazing.

You had every single section working in there, but your point was the digital arts and animation.

,,Did you really have to submit a portfolio to be admitted?’’ he asked you when he read your latest blog.

You nodded at him as you typed something on your keyboard.

,,Mhm, especially to bachelor of fine arts,’’ you told him.

He didn’t quite understand, but he still nodded.

,,I didn’t have to,’’ he mumbled.

,,That’s why it’s written on there. The little word ,,may’’ says that you possibly have to, but not always,’’ you told him, making him sulk.

,,I know what ,,may’’ means… ah, and tell me. What are the admission requirements?’’ he asked you.

You turned your head and looked at him.

,,Can you maybe read the whole post instead of just the keywords? You need to check on the page itself for the requirements. Every university does it differently,’’ you told him and closed the page.

,,Ah. I just wanted to test you,’’ he smiled and looked at you.

He looked so up to you. You always knew what the latest LOLOL update changed in the game. You were amazing...

Jaehee

,,What? You went to Harvard University?’’ Zen asked you. He didn’t know that he was in a group with such an intelligent person and you were even Jaehee’s girlfriend.

You nodded.

,,She’s also very creative. Did you see our advertisement? She did it herself. Pretty amazing, right?!’’ Jaehee said proudly, no one had ever seen her that excited.

You changed her.

You and Jaehee also often went to different festivals to check the latest innovations. It was something even Jaehee was interested in.

And thanks to you, she even understood a few things since you were very good at explaining things.

,,Should we buy this new keyboard? It fits much better than the one you have now in your studio,’’ she told you and admired the keyboard in front of you.

She looked up to you since you were such a hard worker as a owner of a coffee shop and even a designer of word advertisements and 2d animation.

Saeyoung

,,You make pretty good money, huh?’’ he asked you as he looked around.

Your studio just looked so aesthetically pleasing in the middle of Seoul.

You shrugged your shoulders as you kept typing something.

Then you took your pen between your fingers and began to draw something.

You were a storyboard artist.

Saeyoung, your finacé, loved to watch you.

He sometimes even helped you when a program stopped working.

,,Look, which one do you like more?’’ you asked him as you turned your screen towards him to show him a park.

,,Mh, I don’t know. What’s the story? LIke, this one looks cute as if you’re in a fairy tale, but this one looks more realistic,’’ he answered, making you turn the display again.

You nodded and stood up, taking your jacket and facing your fiancé. ,,We are going to the park now,’’ you said and pulled him by the hand.

That’s what he loved about you.

He, too, was someone who would simply do his work, but you wanted to give your best, even at that moment.

At the end of the day, you however, knew which one you would decide on and you were happy that Saeyoung opened your eyes.

Saeran

,,Mc! It’s so nice to see you here!’’ someone said and hugged you.

Saeran observed the person who was so happy to see you.

Both of you were in a foreign country and people still knew you?

You hugged the person who was apparently named Mira.

,,Saeran, this was my teacher, Mira,’’ you said and told Mira about your boyfriend.

She was so happy to see that you got a boyfriend.

,,Have fun here and go visit Josef! He will be happy to see you!’’ she said, meaning your other teacher.

You took Saeran and with him you walked through every department.

,,They try to motivate you to be creative, get started, start your own company, make your own shows, produce medical videos or animations, and they want you to learn things by doing,’’ you explained.

At some point, you arrived at a place that was lit by lights. Students had pencils in their hands and they began to draw something on their papers. This was something that amazed Saeran.

,,I thought it’s digital art,’’ he whispered.

You nodded. ,,They first try to make you get used to it. When you’re ready, you can move to the digital version,’’ you told him and observed the students.

It was a pretty good day and Saeran also enjoyed seeing you presentate something on a stage about your own work in South Korea.

He was proud of you.

Jihyun

Hand in hand, both of you walked into an institute to talk about digital art.

Jihyun also liked art a lot. However, he was a painter.

But your art was also something beautiful in his eyes.

He once tried it, but failed.

,,I remember back then, I also was unsure if digital art was real art, but after I saw it myself… I’m sorry I was like that back then… so don’t give up if people are the same here as in this art institute,’’ he told you.

You nodded.

Your goal was it to teach digital art in that institute and they first invited you to talk about it.

They first invited you in and then they were ready to listen to you.

,,Thank you for your words,’’ the older man said and nodded.

,,However, digital art is, itself, placed under the larger umbrella term new media art that doesn’t require any effort, Mrs. Kim. Digital art is not considered real art,’’ he said and closed his book with the notes.

,,Why did you invite my wife then?’’ Jihyun asked as you watched your dreams get crushed in front of your eyes.

No one dared to say anything. Were you just the laugh stock? Why did you even make the effort? You were ready to give up when Jihyun began to say something again. ,,I can understand you. At first we thought that digital art was easy. Why should we ask a teacher to teach us? I’m an artist myself and I thought like that too, but here too, just like the art with real pens and colors, you need to start with it gradually. I experienced it myself and I was surprised by how difficult it was. I beg you, try at least once to draw a forest in digital art,’’ Jihyun said, begging the person in front of him.

,,Very well, I have been an artist since my twenties and I am now sixty years old,’’ he laughed and took your tablet, ready to draw.

While he was drawing, you did the same on the second tablet and a bit later you all noticed the difference, making them all apologize to you.

,,I can’t thank you enough,’’ you sobbed as both of you walked out of the room, you overjoyed about the good news.

,,I told you not to give up on them. They were just like me,’’ he laughed and kissed your hand before you could both go and pick up Lucy at Jumin’s penthouse.

Vanderwood

When he first saw your room, not Rika’s, but your own home, he was kind of shocked to know that you were almost like Agent 707.

He quickly noticed that just like him, you loved your profession.

It was something that satisfied you immediately ever since you first learned how things worked.

Indeed, animation was attracting more and more people and you were one of them.

,,Back then, when we lived in Japan, we somehow won a sightseeing trip and I got to see the Ghibli studio. I think that that was the moment I fell in love with it,’’ you told him as he looked around.

,,And then? I mean, Japan is one of the best countries to study animation, right?’’ he asked you. Vanderwood was truly interested in it.

He wanted to know everything about you.

The brown haired man wanted to know what made your eyes shine so brightly and why you were so in love with your job.

,,Uhm, yeah. Spain is the best country to study animation, but I also expected it to be Japan. Back then and still today, living there was too expensive. My parents wanted to move back to Korea and so I went to Spain to study my dream,’’ you laughed.

,,I’m amazed. I expected you to go with your parents,’’ he laughed and observed you.

,,I was amazed by myself too, you know? It was a hard decision, but I never regretted what I did. I could fulfil my dream and it’s my life after all.

And knowing more languages is even better because there are so many more opportunities,’’ you laughed.

,,Please never lock the door in other languages like Agent 707,’’

You laughed at his comment. ,,I won’t… but maybe something animated?’’ you teased him.

MASTERLIST 1

MASTERLIST 2

MASTERLIST 3

17.04.2021// 00:18 MEST

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nohoney · 3 years

Text

Missed Dates - Hawks

I originally wanted to make this sugar daddy Hawks but got this instead...

Hawks is the #2 hero so you know that he’s usually preoccupied with his profession

But he always tries his best to make time for you “finally, I get to relax with my baby bird! I deserve it!”

Regrettably though..... Hawks does have to choose his work first and there have been multiple occasions where you receive a last minute text or call from him apologizing and having to cancel a date

“I’m so sorry baby bird....”

“Ah, it’s fine Keigo... duty calls yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll have dinner tomorrow okay?”

If he could put you first all the time, he absolutely would

Obviously Hawks makes a good living as a top Pro Hero, he’s probably not Endeavor rich but he’s got money

So just right after he gets off the phone after telling you that he can’t come to dinner again you get a little notification on your phone

$XXXX has been deposited in your bank account along with a text from Hawks

‘Treat yourself to something nice, on me xoxo’

You’re floored at the amount of money that your boyfriend just sent to you, not even your biggest paycheck could complete with the number. Immediately you ring up Hawks, your fingers tapping on the dinner table in annoyance and waiting for him to pick up. Right when you hear his voice chime your name, you go off on him, “What the hell Keigo?! I am perfectly capable of buying my own things! I like working and earning my own money, I don’t need a hand out!”

“No you’ve got it wrong baby bird! I just wanted to make it up to you for not being able to come to dinner again, I’m not pitying you.” Hawks explains himself, you recognize the sound of him flying through the air as he talks on the phone with you, “I meant it, whatever you want it’s on me.”

“Keigo, I don’t want your money. I’m sending it back to you.” You tell him, ready to do so.

“Oh no you don’t, if you do that I’ll just double it right back to you.” Keigo challenges you, a hint of a warning in his tone.

“What?! Keigo, don’t you dare!”

“Don’t you test me dove. Try to send it back, I dare you.”

“Keigo...” you sigh out in frustration, about to insist that it wasn’t necessary but Hawks cuts you off with the gentle call of your name.

It sounds like Keigo is landing, no longer hearing the flapping of his wings or the whistle of the wind. “Just please accept it? I know it’s my fault that we don’t spend enough time together and doing this for you makes me happy. I want to spoil you and doing this makes me feel like I’m taking care of you.” Keigo gently insists and he says it with such soft conviction that you feel like you can’t argue back with him.

“I... I... okay.” You sigh in defeat, you couldn’t be mad knowing that all he wanted was to make you happy and secure. “I’ll accept it.”

“Great! Show me what you bought tomorrow, surprise me!” Hawks’ tone switches to sounding like his chipper self and you can’t catch him on it as he talks over you, “No buying necessities, you better have used that money on something that you normally wouldn’t get! Clothes, a computer, maybe a new phone or something. Love you baby bird, bye!”

You can’t help but feel a little tricked.

But it’s what he wanted and you know that in the end, this really is meant to be a loving gesture. So you spend the money he sent you and show him your purchases the next day at dinner, his eyes shining and a big grin on his face as you go through the bags on the floor of your home.

So it becomes routine that every time Hawks has to cancel last minute on you for dates or plans, he ends up sending you a ridiculous amount of money for you to spend on yourself and however you please. It’s nice, you don’t mind it because hey with your own paychecks you couldn’t buy certain things unless you saved up for them first. You upgrade certain amenities in your home, buy your parents or friends dinners when you go out with them, and buy that designer purse you always dreamed of having along with the matching wallet.

And as nice as it was of Hawks to spoil you, it didn’t really compare to being with him and no amount of money could be a substitute for his love and affection, so you hatch a plan after two months since he sent that first deposit.

You know how dedicated Hawks is to his hero work and you always leave him be when it’s his working hours except for the occasional text just to say you love and miss him. But you delicately place your newest purchase on the surface of his bed, one of many that’s in the bag with each set wrapped in tissue paper and think to yourself that for once, you’re gonna make your boyfriend call out from work.

So you wash up, do your makeup and style your hair before putting on the lingerie piece you bought just a few hours earlier. You pose for a few pictures of you wearing your set and have videos recorded of yourself as well, choosing the most flattering picture and sending it to Hawks with the caption, “Look what I bought.”

Lace, flowers, see through, flimsy, you know it’ll drive him wild.

You hope and pray that Hawks is having some downtime right now because you’re not about to wait a few hours for his response and-

“Dove it looks so pretty, it’s going to look even prettier on the floor when I take it off you tonight.”

Oh hell no, you’re not waiting until his shift is over at his agency. You’re going to make him want to come to you.

This time you send a picture of yourself from the waist up, cupping one of your breasts in the frilly bra and give him a teasing smile.

“Yes Dove, very pretty and very sexy. Just wait until I get home and I’ll show you much I appreciate it.”

Fuck no.

You send a video that you know is gonna drive him up the wall.

Your phone rings and you pick up right away, answering with a leisurely, “Hello?”

“What are you doing to me baby bird?” Hawks hisses into the phone, his voice a little low and you detect a hint of frustration in his tone. “Why do you keep on teasing me? You know I’m at work right now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Keigo, I’m just really excited about my new lingerie. I’m just showing you how nice it is.” You’re not one to play coy but when you do, it works your boyfriend up. “Is that so wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that I just popped a semi while one of my sidekicks was talking all because of that little video you sent me! I can’t walk around like this!”

“Then I guess you should come home then huh?”

“Don’t tempt me dove, I promise I’ll wrap things up soon and I swear I’ll fuck you so hard that you’ll need to call off work for a week.” Hawks growls into the phone and it makes your spine shiver; he’s getting feral. “Just sit pretty for me and be good, yeah?”

Nope.

“Okay Keigo, can I just send you one more?”

“Sure dove.”

You send the photo, your phone chiming with the delivered sound.

“I’m coming home.”

Hawks hangs up before you get the chance to say anything.

And just a short fifteen minutes later while you’re lying on the bed wearing a different set this time, you hear the balcony door slide open; Hawks only uses that as an entrance if he’s really in a rush to get in and out of his place. He practically slams the door open, his face flustered and golden eyes zero in on you. “Baby bird...”

“Winged Hero Hawks, how are you doing this fine day?” You ask with an innocent tilt of your head and keeping your eyes on the screen of your phone.

Hawks sheds off his jacket, his wings fanning out and several feathers coming towards your direction. One red feather knocks the phone out of your hand while two restrain you down by your wrists, the feathers soft against your skin and you don’t dare fight them back; you have no reason to. You give Hawks a cheeky grin as he climbs onto the bed, approaching you like a predator. “You call in sick? Feeling light headed? You must be with that boner, all the blood rushing from that busy brain of yours to your cock.”

Hawks wears his pants baggy but you can see the bulge of his cock when you glance down at his crotch. You sigh as his hands carefully run over the lingerie set you swapped to and he comments on it, “You weren’t wearing this in those pictures you sent me earlier.”

“Well I wanted to model all of the sets for you and ask which one you like the best. Sounds like a good time yeah?” You feel the feathers leave your wrists and they return back to his wings.

He gulps, still delicately touching the lace and asks, “How many did you buy?”

“One for every missed date the past two months.” You pull him down by the collar of his shirt, lick the shell of his ear and whisper, “Let’s break them in Keigo.”

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami x reader #takami keigo #bnha #bnha x reader

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ilovefandoms102 · 3 years

Text

His Girl-Part 2

Pairing: Jamie Henson x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Kate finds out Jamie’s secret, and both of you face the consequences….

Note: I was not prepared for the season finale yall😭 But at least theres a season 2 coming! Please give me any feedback I love hearing your guys thoughts!🥰

Clicking here to be added to my taglist!

Part 1 Part 3

Warnings🛑: teen pregnancy, mention of kidnapping/missing person

Parts in italics are flashbacks!

=====================================

“I don’t want to be a secret anymore.” I blurted, both our eyes widening.

“What the fuck?!” someone screamed, Jamie’s hand slipping out of my shirt as we turned to see Kate.

Oh no…

=====================================

1993

I stared at Kate in horror, Jamie’s face holding the same expression.

“Kate it-I-um-” Jamie stuttered, looking between the both of us.

“Are you actually kidding me?! Of all people to cheat on me with Jamie you picked her?!” Kate exclaimed, glowering in my direction.

Ouch…

“Now hold on a minute-” Jamie started, but was interrupted again.

“How long?” She asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“Kate-” Jamie tried.

“HOW LONG?!” She sneered, looking to me for an answer now.

“The whole time.” I whispered, gulping as she took a step back.

“The whole time?” Kate repeated, her voice cracking.

“Can we just talk about this?” Jamie pleaded, my heart sinking. My head snapped in his direction, but his focus was on Kate.

I was so stupid…I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with him. I fucking knew it, but I let my heart get in the way.

I felt a surge of panic run up my spine, like I was going to throw up, pass out, or both at any moment. I heard voices, but it was mostly background noise to the ringing in my ear.

I needed out of there.

So I ran, I ran back to my house away from everyone…from everything…from Jamie. I could vaguely hear him calling my name, but I ignored him.

=====================================

1994

Kate had been declared missing, which I’m sure explained why I hadn’t seen anyone in a few weeks…not my parents, or Jamie. Maybe they forgot about me, maybe that was for the best. My hormones had been out of control recently, and I kept getting randomly sick through the day.

I also still had not gotten my period, so I was fearing the worst. If I was pregnant, my parents would surely throw me out. They already despised me, so this was their perfect opportunity.

I concealed myself as much as possible before entering the store, going straight to the feminine health section. I grabbed a box of pregnancy tests, and ran for the check out, but as soon as I turned, Jamie was standing in front of me.

“Who?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes.

“Leave me alone Jamie, don’t you have a girlfriend to go back to?” I sneered, shoving past him. He caught my arm, yanking me back to him.

“My girlfriend has been ignoring me for weeks, and is buying a pregnancy test.” Jamie said, his blue eyes staring deeply into mine.

My mouth dropped open slightly as if I was going to say something, but nothing came out. My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears.

“But-But at the party you-” I stammered, searching into his eyes for some kind of tell that he was lying.

“You didn’t stick around long enough for me to explain to Kate that I’m in love with you baby.” he said softly, sliding his hold on my arm to my hand.

“You said that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, I did…out of everything I’ve ever lied to her about, I would never lie about you. I love you, and you’re the one I really want.” Jamie professed, and I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

I wrapped my arms around his waste, hiding my face in his chest as I cried. All I ever wanted was to feel loved, to feel important, and Jamie had always made me feel that way. My hands trembled as they reached to feel any part of him, like I was in withdrawal from his touch, from touching him.

“I’m so so sorry J,” I sniffled, tilting my chin up timidly.

His big hands held my cheeks, wiping the tears away. He leaned down, and planted the sweetest, most perfect kiss to my lips. Jamie slowly kissed every inch of my face, and I melted into him.

“It’s ok my love, it’s ok.” he whispered.

Then I remembered where we were, and I went frigid. I didn’t want anyone to spot us, mostly because of the pregnancy tests I held in my hand. Jamie noticed my unease and looked down at me clutching the product.

“Do you want to do this at home or at my house?” he asked, taking the tests and pulling me to the register.

“Mine…parents aren’t home.” I mumbled, holding his free hand tightly in both of mine.

=====================================

I stared at the three positive tests on my counter, shock still coursing through me. Pregnant…I was pregnant, with Jamie’s child.

What the hell was I going to do? I couldn’t tell my parents, they’d lock me in here for the rest of my life, or worse. I couldn’t live on my own, I didn’t have any way of supporting myself. All these thoughts were racing through my head, bombarding my brain.

“Baby? Can I come in?” Jamie asked, startling me from my trance.

“Y-Yeah,” I answered, my voice cracking.

Jamie came in, immediately coming to where I was standing. He looked at the tests, and I waited for his reaction. Anxiety crept up my spine like liquid fire, burning my skin.

“So…I-we’re having a baby?” He managed to get out after a few minutes, and I nodded my response.

“I’m going to be a dad?” he asked again, tears creeping into his eyes.

“Don’t leave me,” I blurted, his head snapped to me.

“No, no, no baby I’m not going anywhere. This baby, our little baby will be the greatest blessing to us.” Jamie assured, his hand coming to rest on my belly.

“Jamie we have no way of supporting a baby, I can’t tell my parents they’ll kick me out.” I said, panic rising.

“Sweetheart I’m not going to let anything happen to you, we’re going to get through this together. We can do anything as long as it’s you and me.” He said firmly, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me into his arms.

I held on tight to him, scared for what was about to unfold….

=====================================

Tagging:

@halsmultibitch @demirunner @write-from-the-heart @bibliophilewednesday @mxltifandoms06

#jamie henson x plus size reader #jamie henson #cruel summer #cruel summer hulu #jamie henson angst #jamie henson imagine #jamie henson blurb #jamie henson fic #jamie henson x you #jamie henson x y/n #jamie henson x reader

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heartcal · 3 years

Text

distant; c.h.

it’s finally here omg and being posted on time too (barely)!

this was an idea i started writing back in late 2015 (literally the first few paragraphs are from the old draft with some editing) and while cleaning up my drafts i decided to continue it since i liked it :^D

pairing: calum hood x reader (i tried to make it gender neutral so if i used pronouns while describing the reader, i apologize and feel free to let me know!)

summary: you feel like the relationship is deteriorating because he’s gotten distant. you want to bring it up with him, but how can you when he doesn’t realize something is wrong? and why does it invoke a hurtful argument when you voice your feelings?

warnings: none really other than some cursing, arguing, and cal’s kinda an ass sorry lol

genre: angst, very angtsy

wc: 2,645

my masterlist!

The candle flickered on the coffee table as the sound of rain hitting the roof was prominent. Total silence engulfed you as you finally made up your mind. Your thoughts were running wild for at least the past two hours as you went through numerous scenarios on how he’d react.

Calum had been acting different ever since he came home from tour. It felt like he was distancing himself from you as he began to hang out with his friends right as he got the time off. He already planned visits to his family, which were coming up very soon. He would text you, but they’d only be a couple of words or no more than four sentences a day. At first, you believed it was because he was tired from tour, and honestly who wouldn’t be tired if they had been on a tour bus and planes for almost a year with minimal breaks?

You understood his profession and what comes along with it, you really do.

But when you saw fan pictures or paparazzi pictures of your boyfriend having a hell of a time, obviously without you, it hurt.

You’re not clingy at all; you want him to have a lot of fun considering his age and, due to his fame, he can’t do a lot of the stuff you and other non-famous people can do. You’re not clingy at all, but you would appreciate some one-on-one time with him, especially now that he’s back from tour and soon would be promoting yet another album.

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down and bring forth your final thoughts on the situation. A break-up is the last thing you want to do. You want to work out whatever is happening between you two, talk it out, and straighten out any knots within the relationship. You don’t want to throw away the past two and a half years, and possibly the five years of friendship.

When you two got together it didn’t come as a surprise to those close to you. The guys were waiting for it to happen, and when it did they didn’t even bat an eye. Your family already thought the two of you were dating, while Calum’s family let out a sigh of relief when the news came out because they saw how happy you made him as a friend.

It started as a test; to see if this is what you want and if it feels right. It did, more than it should if you had to be honest. It almost scared you just how normal it felt to be with him, and the same can be said for him. You had minimal arguments, minimal disagreements; the good outweighed the bad.

But the honeymoon phase can only last so long.

The first time he went on tour when you got together, it was a promotional tour. He wasn’t gone for a long time but he did travel often. That left little to no time to talk, text, or facetime. When he was able to contact you, it was short, but he managed to make it worth it with sweet words and words of encouragement from you.

The second time was a domestic promotional tour. He had asked you to join him, and after getting the OK to work remotely from your boss, you agreed to join him. It was almost like a vacation for you, even if Calum was gone most of the day. On his days off, or when he had part of the day off, it was spent with you alone or with the guys plus you and their significant others.

The third tour was when things started to dwindle. Six months after their third album was released, they went on tour and contact was hard to get. You joined him for a month or two, but after leaving to get back to work, it began to feel like the first time he went on tour. Towards the end of the tour he frequently contacted you, stating that he was, “stressed from the constant traveling,” and he had a hard time keeping up with what day it was.

You didn’t think about it much. Touring like that can strain anyone, amateur or pro. But what you couldn’t understand was how he behaved after the tour. After the first two tours, it was fine, but after tour number three you noticed how distant he would get. Ignoring calls and texts, but updating social media at any time of day and night. It struck you as odd, but he eventually came around with an apology and lots of makeup dates.

Now after tour number four, he’s as distant as ever. You gave him some space but he never came around. It’s been two and a half weeks since you’ve had proper contact.

Running over what you want to say to him in your head, you miss the knocks on your front door. You also miss the sound of your lock turning and the door opening.

“There you are,” You jump at that, turning towards the front door with a hand on your heart.

“What—how did you get in?” You stumble, gone are the thoughts you had previously.

Calum holds his right hand up, his set of keys and key chains jingling as he shakes his hand lightly. He has a small smile on as he speaks, “You gave me a copy, remember?”

You stare blankly at him, recalling the time when you finally moved out of the apartment you shared with an old friend and their partner. You were so happy that you found a place to live on your own, closer to work and closer to Calum. You made him a copy so that he knew he was welcome (and also for safety reasons).

You nod with a hum in response, your eyes moving to the painting a few feet away from him.

If he notices your behavior, he doesn’t mention it as he puts his keys on the hook next to your while taking off his shoes (something you nagged him about since the living room had carpeting).

You knew you had to bring it up. It was sitting on your tongue but your brain couldn’t form the words and sentences that you had previously thought of.

He sighs out as he takes a seat next to you on your couch, his right arm stretched behind you on the back of the couch while his left arm rested on the arm.

You sat stiff, not leaning back or into him no matter how much you craved it. Rather than giving in, you were more focused on the anger starting to bubble up inside of you. How can he act like nothing is wrong after ignoring you for almost three weeks?

“You’re quiet tonight,” he retracts his arm from the back of the couch and moves his hand to your forehead, “You feeling okay?”

When he brings his other hand up to his own forehead, you smack his arm away.

You scoff, letting your anger show, “Really, Calum?”

His puzzled look pushes you over and you stand up.

“What?” He asks as his eyes follow you as you head to the window.

Taking a deep breath and staring out at the city below, you realize that it’s now or never. Releasing the breath as a sigh, you turn towards him.

“Is something wrong?” He questions again.

“I know that tour takes a lot out of you,” you begin, willing yourself to bring your eyes up to meet his, “but you’ve been distant—more than usual. I know you want some time to yourself after touring, and I give you the time, but I can’t help but feel ignored Calum.”

Calum stands with a frown, bringing his hands up to his head before running them down his face with a sigh. His mouth opens to say something but nothing comes out. He stands in front of his seat on the couch, hands on his hips and shoulders slumped. He wants to say something, wants to tell you that he’s not ignoring you, but he can’t bring himself to say so.

“I’ve seen the pictures of you out with your friends. I’m happy you’re spending time with them, that you’re out there having fun because I know you haven’t seen them in so long. And your family, too. But I would like to spend time with you before you head out again.”

“I spent a lot of time with you before I left,” he mumbles, taking a few steps towards you.

“I know-” you hold your hand up to stop him from getting closer, “but you also spent plenty of time with your friends.”

He takes another step towards you, ignoring your signal. His body language shows that he doesn’t want to argue; his steps are small, head tilted only slightly, his eyes are staring intently at you.

It’s silent. Your breathing picks up as you hold back frustrated tears, which causes Calum’s own breathing to falter. He moves his jaw to help ease the tension he feels – a tick you know he picked up from a tour crew member – and shakes his hands as if he was trying to rid them of something.

He inhales, eyes on the floor at his feet, “I feel like we spend too much time together.”

Ouch. His words had a sharp impact, like a punch to the gut when you least expect it. The kind of heart-dropping, breathless pain.

“You think—do you think I’m clingy?” The word leaves a bad taste in your mouth because you felt that you were far from it.

“That’s not what I said—,” he stops, taking in his lower lip with a hand ruffling the hair on his head, “—that’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“But that’s what you’re implying,” you accuse with narrow eyes.

He shakes his head, growing upset with how this night is turning out. He came over to spend time with you, knowing that when comes back from visiting his family he will have only a couple more days of rest before putting all his focus on the new album.

“Look,” he sighs and sits on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands, “all I’m saying is, I wanted to spend some time with my friends since I don’t see them as often as I see you.”

Your jaw tightens, “I understand that, but what about our relationship?”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t feel like a relationship anymore,” you’re blunt, straight to point out how you feel.

He scoffs, “Cut the bullshit.”

Your speechless, watching him stand up and walk to the other side of the living room. The rain outside has gotten louder with an occasional rumble in the distance, but you’re focused on how he brushed off how you felt like it wasn’t important.

“Just because I don’t spend all my time with you doesn’t mean we’re not in a relationship,” he says, resting his left arm on the bookshelf against the wall, “I have other relationships to manage besides ours.”

“You barely manage this one, Calum,” a tear threatens to spill over your lower lid, “Two and a half weeks of little to no contact, and you suddenly show up to my apartment as if everything is fine? I sat here wondering if something happened on tour that was making you this distant, but from what I’ve seen on Twitter and Instagram…you’re doing just fine. You’re smiling, you’re laughing—you’re seemingly your usual self. So why did all my texts get left on read, no response at all, especially when I just wanted to know that you were okay?”

He sucks his teeth, a humorless laugh leaving his lips as he turns to look at you, “You’re overreacting.”

Another jab to the heart, and this time you let the tears freely fall down your cheeks.

He stands up straight and licks his lips, eyes dancing around the room. They bounce over photos of you with your friends, family, and him. In the back of his mind, he knows this is too much. He knows his words may be overstepping and hurtful, but he can’t see where you’re coming from.

“I’m entitled to my own life, just like you. I have friends I want to hang out with, just like you. Sometimes I need time to myself away from you. Maybe you were right earlier, maybe you are clingy.”

He watches as your tears fall, the pained expression you wear didn’t go unnoticed but he does choose to overlook it.

He cuts you off when your mouth begins to open, “Maybe another thing you were right about before, this doesn’t feel like a relationship, right?”

He rolls his shoulders, jaw clenched as he walks to the front door. Your eyes are covered with unshed tears, previous tears leaving trails down your cheeks and nose. He sees them, there’s a pounding in his brain that’s trying to take control so he can go over and console you with unlimited apologies. But he doesn’t.

Calum grabs his keys, taking off your key and tossing it to your feet. He slides his shoes on, his movements rough as his breathing gets heavier. His eyes reach yours and those dark brown eyes you grew to love have now become hurtful, clouded by an unrecognizable emotion.

His hand blindly reaches for the lock, turning it before lowering to the handle, “If this relationship doesn’t feel like one, let’s end it, yeah?”

Without another word, he opens the door and leaves. Your eyes shed the built-up tears as they fall towards the spare key on the ground.

You don’t know how it came to this. You had your mind made up of how you wanted the conversation to go, what to do if worst comes to worst and how to repair the relationship itself. You weren’t expecting him to come over. Once he walked through that door all your thoughts evaporated and you were left grasping for any remaining thoughts.

You kneel to pick up the key, but your knees are too weak to stand back up. The key glares at you, reminding you painfully of what once was.

But behind your front door stands Calum, a racing mind and pounding heart. He stares at the floor and it finally dawns on him. Mindlessly he’s ended up outside, the warm air of your apartment lobby did not prepare him for the chilly rain outside. By the time he’s in his car, he’s soaked and he’s uncomfortable.

He doesn’t start the car, instead, he reaches for the steering wheel and grips it tightly. The emotions wash over him and the tears slide down as fast as they formed. He shakily inhales, followed by a sob and a sniffle.

The rain is heavy, muting his sobs to his own ears. A sharp crack of thunder makes him jump, and after a few more sniffles and constant wiping of his cheeks, he starts his car and drives back home.

It’s late when you go to bed. The numbing pain in your chest ruins your chances of a good night’s sleep, but selflessly you wished Calum a goodnight before attempting to sleep.

Calum sleeps on his couch, too tired to bring himself to his bed but too hurt to sleep. His eyes drift to his phone on the coffee table when it vibrates; a message from a groupchat talking about an outing scheduled for tomorrow. His sore eyes shut and he turns away from the table.

In the darkness, he sees your pained expression, the way you shrunk as he threw those harsh words at you. It’s an image that will be imprinted forever in his mind, and he regrets everything.

~~~

part two!

#5sos imagines #5sos blurbs #5sos one shots #5sos drabbles #5 seconds of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer blurbs #5 seconds of summer one shots #5 seconds of summer drabbles #calum hood imagines #calum hood blurbs #calum hood one shots #5sos preferences #5 seconds of summer preferences #5sos imagine #5sos preference #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer preference

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youwontlikethisblog · 3 years

Text

A lil rant

After watching this episode a fourth time and certain scenes a lot and thinking about it a lot I wanted to explain further than I did in the last post.

I focused a lot on explaining the consensual aspect of their first time and explaining the motivation behind Armando's actions as well as Betty's, but didn't elaborate much more, for one like I said I'm an insomniac and was out of it lol, try writing a post for nearly twelve hours and tell me you wouldn't either. I do see that I should probably draft a lot of my "analysis" when I write them because I am not all there so I don't explain things as well so I'll start doing that so the post are a lot more consistent and clear as opposed to me starting with one point and never finishing it. Anyway now that this disclaimer is out of the way here are my thoughts on said episodes as a writer.

Many times when writing we have to revisit our work as we are writing it. This allows us to pick up on certain plot holes and mistakes as well as even figure out some plot twist in the future. Often times when you know your characters and the moral and ending of your story, the story ends up writing itself and forming it's own path. I've mentioned in past posts that the first draft is to write with tears and blood and the when that's over you clean up your crime scene.

Now, all writers are imperfect and we make mistakes, duh, so there's inconsistent things in this show, like the dog, Camila, Beatriz Valencia, etc.. etc.. however when it comes to the main character's personality there really isn't much of a flaw, in fact they are very realistic and consistent, the actors did a phenomenal job bringing said characters to life, one of my all time favorite details of the characters in this show is how they all have ticks. Guti Guti does that thing with his lips, Patricia flips her hair, Betty worries her lips a lot and when she is explaining certain things she often has this really adorable thing where she rocks on her feet and speaks very certain of what she's saying. Armando has so many ticks that it's hard to keep up with them. Point is they all have so many realistic behaviors that it's hard not to notice them and even harder to disregard them as not part of the story when they are. They are a huge part of being able to credit or discredit the motives and actions that move these characters.

For that exact reason Betty's character in the past few episodes was so heavily important to understand where she was coming from. It wasn't just that she was drinking that got her all riled up and excited that night. It wasn't just that she missed him days without him made her longing and desire increase ten fold. There is always a cause and effect.

What caused Betty to behave this way? How did that effect her relationship? What caused Armando to react that way? How did that effect their relationship? Most importantly, how did this affect them both?

There's a clear understanding of who Armando is and what his secret desire and motive is to make Betty fall in love with him. Though his pride and ego are so huge he can't see past it to dissect and understand his feelings aside from the prejudice he has against women who are not the status quota, in the mildest of all of that there lays one true objective: Betty's heart. We mustn't forget that Armando IS worried about Eco Moda and most certainly that he never wants to admit that he was wrong.

However much like a future dream demonstrates it, Eco Moda is just a farce for his feelings towards Betty. Though outwardly he is motivated by the desperate desire to be validated and loved by his parents, to be better than Daniel, and not admit that he was wrong, inwardly what really pushes him and makes him go after Betty is his desire for her.

How does this start off? He blurs the line at work, where things no longer are just professional coming from him. He makes certain achievements of Betty's in her profession and even morale his own, as if they were a team facing the challenges together. He inserts himself into Betty's life and he inserts Betty into his personal life a lot. With his affairs, his feelings regarding the company and his worries. He trust her as his confidant, as his best friend. He trust her with his feelings more than he does with his actual best friend and his fiancé and this all starts days before the plan is even a plan to him.

The cause of this? Betty's faithfulness and unconditionality.

The effect? He feels like he is special to Betty, as he said himself he had been so special with her(If you haven't yet I suggest that you read the posts Nicolas Mora, Un Amigo, Betty, My Betty! Parts 1-3).

As their relationship progressed his feelings continued to grow to the point that this night, not after he slept with her but before he did, he fell in love. It was when Betty was being vulnerable and apologizing to him for having been overbearing that he fell in love.

However Betty had already been in love with him, way before. She knew him in and out. She knew the good and the bad. She accepted him as is and all she wanted to do was give him her affection and love and that's what she's done, it's all she's done and this feeds a cycle of desire and motivation for Armando where her love motivates him to change, it inspires him to be a better version of himself to make Betty happy because seeing her happy makes him happy, it challenges him to change his own prejudice of society and people. She is a safe haven and she achieves that, how wasn't he supposed to fall in love with her this night when she does exactly that?

Betty's cause to behave like this was her conversation with Aura Maria days before where she questioned if Armando felt more for her than just admiration. She questioned if he too desired her. The effect of that conversation was her testing to see if Armando did in fact feel the same way, that he was on the same page.

It is also so satisfying to see the parallels! Oh how wonderful they are!

The extreme contrast between Betty and Marcela are so visible, so vivid, so in your face that you cannot say that Marcela is a victim of Betty's.

I won't defend Betty's actions for involving herself with a man that was in a contract with another woman(I say contract because it was not an engagement. What Marcela and Armando had was a contract, he did her the favor of marrying her and she owned him.) I understand that she is insecure but she was always shown to have morals and ethics above all, where did those go? Out the window that's where. However I still love her so imma be a supportive mother to Betty and call her out but lend her my two shoulders to cry on, okay?

Moving on.

Betty did not and I will repeat this BETTY DID NOT MANIPULATE OR FORCE ARMANDO TO SLEEP WITH HER.

We get two contrast of the exact same scenario for that exact reason people.

Betty and Marcela literally ask the exact same questions to Armando: Am I making you uncomfortable? Am I bothering you? Do you not want to be with me?(Marcela asked Do you want me to leave?)

However they ask it with different intentions and motivation.

Marcela never pays attention to Armando's body language. Instead she focuses solely on herself, her feelings, and what she wants, this is not a person who is insecure, this is not a person who has no self-worth. This is a person who has a huge ego. MARCELA IS SELF-CENTERED AND SELFISH TO THE CORE. For this exact reason she refuses to let go of Armando because she believes that she deserves him not as a human being but as a trophy to satisfy herself that she tamed a man who sluts it out left and right.

This night we get to see that.

While Betty asked him these questions to make sure he was on the same page as her, that he too desired her just as she desired him; Marcela asked these questions to trap him. She wanted to be like "Aha! You do have a lover! Now I'm going to make your life a living hell because I was right!"

No sis, calm your tits, you need a therapist.

While Betty was legit asking for it, for Armando to consent, Marcela was asking for him to satisfy her. There is a huge, and I mean huge difference between asking for consent and wanting to be satisfied.

Ironically my current WIP pushed me down a rabbit hole on information that explains the dynamics of a survivor and a romantic relationship and how to be a supportive S.O and a lot of the articles I read mentioned the importance of intimacy.

What is intimacy? It is forming a friendship with your S.O and establishing honesty and respect. It comes above the physical aspect of the relationship because it makes you feel safe when things are leading to something physical.

Marcela and Armando don't have that. Armando has even told Marcela that he doesn't want her to have his intimacy. When I first saw that scene I was like "Take a look at this an*s! Why is she with him?" and then I saw why... Marcela be blabbering his business to everyone. She tells everyone that Armando is unfaithful(I mean in that aspect he do be deserving that) but it goes so much deeper than that. The reason he cheats on her is because he is trying to escape, have control, and feel validated and then that feeds her possessiveness over him, which then feeds his desire to cheat(@el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle already made a meme about that lol). She never does anything to gain his trust, instead she demands it and when she doesn't get it she has this "Aha! It's because you're a cheating whore and I'll destroy the woman but stay with you because you belong to me you puny little man! But I will also ruin you if you leave me!" Their relationship sucks. It's honestly just a moral enemies to sex trope. That's it. Like there's nothing there.

Which is not the case for Betty and Armando.

They in fact do have intimacy. They talk about their feelings, they face trials together, as a team, they push one another and inspire one another. They were friends(a lil more than friends doe) long before. In the scene where they are talking in the hotel room Betty tells him she understand him, that she understands that he doesn't feel that sort of attraction towards her and just because she loves him he isn't obligated to sleep with her.

I want to repeat this in cause people are still confused or saying Betty forced Armando to sleep with her: She said :YOU ARE NOT UNDER THE OBLIGATION TO HAVE RELATIONS WITH ME JUST BECAUSE I WANT TO.

What does that sound like to you?

Imma wait for crickets.

When Armando then tries to engage into relations she pulls away and tells him that he doesn't have to.

She is literally placing his needs, his feelings, before her own, however Armando has just barely fallen in love and he wants to. He wants to sleep with her. He wants to engage in fornication and sinful actions with Betty.

He gets frustrated when Betty tells him that he doesn't have to and we know it's because he hates it when people, especially Betty, invalidate his feelings or efforts. The fact that Betty now was telling him no upset him because he did want to sleep with her, however he did not pressure her either. He explained why he did want to sleep with her and when she consented and he too consented they sinned.

However later that night we get almost the exact same scenario but with a different tone.

Marcela, after they argued, sits by his bed where he is laying down and goes to take off his tie and tells him that she desires him. Armando was laying still he told her he was tired, wanted to wash up and go to sleep before she did this. He did not look nor welcome her actions, which is different from when Betty told him that she wanted to make him feel better. In that scene Armando asked her how she was going to do that and when she said with her kisses, they both leaned in to kiss. This time Armando just lays there, like all the other times before but he looks at her with a cold stare.

When he jumped back from Betty when they were making out, Betty asked him what was wrong and he expressed himself.

However this time when Marcela asks him her tone is different. This time she's angry at him as she yells at him to deny that he has a lover now.

Marcela wasn't looking to be with her man, she was looking for her man to be with her. She wanted him to prove to her that he hadn't been sluting it out(like how was he supposed to prove that when she been knew that he still went and slept with her after he slept with whomever? Like she knew he did that and she still consented? WHAT? which y'know feeds the notion that she just wanted her socks rocked) but it contradicts what she says the next day to Patsy Pats at the office. Marcela just wanted him to satisfy her. She wasn't looking for it to be team work, she was looking for it to be about her.

This is why that night was so important. These little scenes, movements, play on words and parrales are there to show us two different relationships; a healthy one and a toxic one.

Marcela didn't respect Armando's no, she just had no other option because this time he wasn't just laying there letting her do what she wanted, this time her emotional manipulation didn't work, this time her seggsual manipulation doesn't work so unless she was gonna r-word him than she had no other choice but to be pissed about it.

Betty did respect Armando's no. She tried to explain herself and apologize to him. She even double checked with him when he told her he did want to. Betty was willing to not have relations with Armando if he didn't want to, for the sake of their relationship and what they have, she would not jeopardize their relationship just to get her socks rocked nor would she make him feel guilty for it.

It wasn't a happy little accident that we get these parrales in one episode.

Understanding the cause and effect helps us determine this.

Understanding the character's inner desires and dilemas helps us understand this.

So no, once again, Betty did not force Armando to sleep with her. Everything before, during, and after that scene shows us and tells us this.

We get both a cause and effect with the added bonus of show, not tell.

This novela reads like a book, so there isn't much of a speculation when we are being shown to compare both of these relationships when they are saying the same things, in the same scenario but with different tone and reaction from the character of interest in both scenarios.

The purpose of this novela was to break social norms of how certain women and men are presented in the media and to question why that is. It isn't simply a love story, if it was I wouldn't be able to watch it as stuff like that makes me want to puke, again this is all a funny ironic joke that someone is playing on me.

[EDIT:

Another key things to take into account(I mentioned it in the Forgive Me post) is that even Mario's tactic to manipulate Armando had nothing to do with Eco Moda or his ego. It had everything to do with Betty's feelings and Armando's desire to make her happy. That same day Mario took notice of Armando's behavior towards Betty at the office and the guilt he felt over forgetting her B-day. Mario played with Armando's feelings and he pushed his buttons to see just how much it mattered to Armando.

When Armando said at the bar that he couldn't go through with it, Mario told him he was convinced, a sincere reaction of his, and he didn't have to do it anymore. However when Armando said he couldn't do that to Betty because she was really looking forward to it, Armando was smiling when he was talking about her enthusiasm to spend time with him, and Mario took notice of that.

So again, Armando did want to sleep with Betty, he just didn't want to do it under deceit or manipulation. He didn't want to be Betty's "First" under those conditions and Betty didn't force him.

My rant is over.

[EDIT: On the Forgive Me post I went back and did two corrections, they are in bold so if y'all want to read them, that would be awesome :)]

#don armando #armando mendoza #armando ysblf #betty pinzón solano #beatriz pinzón solano #beatriz pinzon solano #betty ysblf #yo soy betty la fea #morch #marcela ysblf #marcela valencia

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doctors-star · 3 years

Note

lister/rimmer for “Oh no, I feel bad- SYKE, no I don’t.” pretty please

“You’re being weirdly helpful today. What do you want?”

Rimmer opens his eyes parodically wide, fingers splayed against his sternum in an elaborate moi? gesture. It is an appearance of surprise and hurt so manufactured that Lister almost wants to applaud the performance, bow at their audience of stars, and abandon the bastard to his machinations. But unfortunately, Lister has been granted prophetic visions of the future and knows with deep and terrible certainty that, were he to do so, he would spend two minutes wandering the empty decks, trip over Kryten’s best mop, slide on one of Cat’s abandoned silk cravats, and go and find Rimmer to bitch about it and hope that he’s doing something more interesting. So, given that interstellar travel is remarkably exhausting, it’s far better to cut out the middleman and instead lie here on the sofa and watch Rimmer direct scutters to haphazardly clean the living quarters inch by mind-numbing inch. They’ve even got little white glove-fingers on their claws, so that Rimmer can demand that they swipe something to test for cleanliness and then bawl them out for miniscule specks no-one else can see. Once, Rimmer had conjured up a white glove for himself and gone round doing the same thing, but when Lister had pointed out that he couldn’t pick up dust and therefore was imagining things, Rimmer had only doubled down harder - so hard that he’d worked himself into a real tizzy about going video-blind, or being permanently stuck with dust on his finger for all eternity, or dying, again, and had needed to go and have a lie down in the dark for a bit. So this is - debatably - an improvement.

Normally, Lister wouldn’t give a toss about Rimmer bossing the scutters about on yet another mad powertrip, but he’s going too far. He’s thrown out all Lister’s mouldering dishes, professing concern for Lister’s health but probably just trying to irritate him, and he’s cleared out the space in the corner of the bunkroom that Lister had hesitantly earmarked for the crib - and in doing so, had thrown out Lister’s third-worst t-shirt, the one with the curry stain vaguely resembling Maggie Thatcher, and which he likes to keep around in order to spit at it every now and then. The final straw, however, had been when Rimmer had nasally informed him that he was getting in the way of the scutters’ gruelling floor-cleaning regime, and that he had better go and put his feet up instead - to keep out of their way, of course.

“When have I ever tried to manipulate you to get what I want?” Rimmer says with a voice which he probably thinks is sweet and just makes him sound like a particularly jammy and unpleasant used-car salesman trying to get off with the seventeen-year-old girls coming in for their first Fiat 500.

Lister narrows his eyes. “Do you want that alphabetised or chronological?”

Rimmer blinks at him balefully, still very much putting it on. “Can’t I just do something nice without an ulterior motive?”

He considers this. “A person could, even if they never have before. You, though, I genuinely think the shock of it would kill you.” Lister spreads his hands invitingly, obligingly lifting one foot out of the way of a scutter before letting it once more dangle over the side of the sofa. “So, out with it.”

Rimmer shifts nervously from one foot to the other, inventing something at speed as though he never expected Lister to call him out on this - in which case, he’s a moron. More so than usual. “I don’t want the twins sleeping in our room,” he blurts out all in one rushed go, and Lister raises an eyebrow. “They’ll - they’ll cry, and keep me up, and I’m not giving up my Learn Esperanto discs for rodent-sized versions of you.”

Lister makes a game show-style incorrect noise and blows a raspberry, just to watch the left side of Rimmer’s face twitch in irritation. “Nope, not happening. They’ll cry so’s I know they need me, so I gotta be here to hear ‘em. Anyway, I wouldn’t make you give up your Esperanto discs - they’ll be better at it than you in a few months.”

Rimmer makes a sucked-lemon face at him. “Your spawn is not piggybacking my learning, the little parasites,” he says sternly.

Lister cups a hand around his ear exaggeratedly. “What was that, little-Listers? Ni estas tre lertaj? Yes,” he says to his still flat stomach in a very gooey voice that makes Rimmer clench and unclench his fists like a prize fighter, “you are very clever!”

Rimmer wrenches one hand up and points at him viciously, the other fingers curled in so tightly that his knuckles go white. “I forbid it.”

Lister sticks his tongue out. “Move out. Anyway, that’s not the reason - you cleared the space for their beds yourself. So, what is it?”

Rimmer narrows his eyes. The scutters start inching towards the door and effecting their escape. “I want to pick the film tonight, and it won’t be Fast and 14ious again,” he says carefully, feeling his way into the lie.

Lister pulls a sympathetic face and makes his game show noise again. “Oh, too bad,” he says, “you know well it’s Cat’s shout tonight so helping me won’t do anything. Anyway, 14ious is the best one.”

“It’s scratched to hell,” Rimmer points out. “We have to make up our own dialogue for the entire second act - last time, Kryten had the central car chase pivot around a shipment of mopheads and got disturbingly into the sex scene immediately following.”

Lister winces briefly at the recollection, but shrugs. “Exactly, it’s the best one. Right, contestant, last chance, remembering that you still have your lifelines: ask the audience, fifty-fifty, phone a friend-”

Predictably, Rimmer frowns. “Phone a friend?”

Internally, Lister pumps his fist. “Sorry contestant, that’s wrong too - you don’t have any friends.” Rimmer offers him a truly poisonous look and Lister nearly falls off the sofa snorting with laughter.

Rimmer folds his arms. “Well, if you know so much,” he sneers. “Work it out for yourself.”

“Nah, ‘cause you’ll just say yes to anything in the hope I’ll shut my gob,” Lister says without taking offence, and Rimmer looks vaguely exhausted. “Come on,” he wheedles, “tell me what’s eating you.”

“Nothing!” Rimmer snaps, unfolding his arms in a jerky motion and stalking off to fold himself into his bunk so that Lister has to awkwardly lean his head over the back of the sofa to see him. “Maybe I just want to live somewhere with basic standards of cleanliness.”

“Yeah,” Lister allows, watching Rimmer rub at the webbing between thumb and forefinger obsessively, as though seeking comfort. “But usually you yell at me until I do it. This,” he says, gesturing at the hard work of the scutters, “could be interpreted as nice, Rimmer, so you’d better do something selfish before the Playboy cover designers get in touch and make you every Miss July for the next century, or something else equally unlikely happens.”

“You’re an unbearable goit with all the standards and appeal of a mangy, leg-humping jack russell.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, explain yourself, you uptight lunatic.”

Rimmer makes a face at his own knees, then looks up, sees Lister watching him, and makes an even unhappier face. “Well,” he says, and then Lister has to wait and listen to nothing but the noise of deep space and Red Dwarf slowly falling apart around them for a good minute. “We ought to be ready for the babies, when they arrive,” he says suddenly, addressing the starched creases in his trousers.

“Which will be in about seven months,” Lister prompts gently, turning around to lean his chest against the back of the sofa and watch Rimmer better. He rubs the back of his neck carefully, tugging at the baby hair under his dreads. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be prepared, but - seven months is a long time, in the depths of space with sod all else to occupy them. Rimmer seems oddly hung up on it. The thought occurs to him like a lead weight in his stomach. “Look, man, I know we never asked for ‘em, but they are coming, so even if you don’t want them around you’ve-”

“No!” Rimmer says sharply, and when he meets Lister’s eyes he knows Rimmer is entirely serious, even though he still doesn’t understand literally anything else about the situation. “It’s not-” he waves a hand at Lister dismissively. Then he fixes his gaze on his hands, and addresses his remarks to those. “Pregnant people are supposed to rest,” he says sternly, “and be undisturbed by - by mess, and noise, and small children.”

Lister feels a frown settle on his brows, and a worry settle in his gut. Rimmer swallows hard, adam’s apple moving like a yo-yo. “Why’s that?” he murmurs gently, as if - if he could only be quiet enough - the question wouldn’t spook Rimmer out of his honesty.

Rimmer shrugs one shoulder. “Stops the baby growing up strong,” he recites oddly. “Mummy said she’d spent so much time running after my brothers that she was worn out with me, and that’s why I was slow.” He sniffs. He looks horribly lonely, and a hundred thousand miles away, and it’s like there’s a fist around Lister’s heart slowly constricting. “And that she might as well keep focussing on them, since I was never going to catch up.”

Lister shakes his head slowly. “Rimmer,” he says, “you’ve got more hang-ups than Elton John’s feather boa rack. I’m not raising the kids like your parents did you, and I’m not going to lie on the sofa for the next seven months doing sod all.”

“Whereas normally you’re such a ball of energy,” Rimmer snipes, but his heart’s not in it.

“Yeah,” Lister agrees calmly, “I’ve a strict schedule of slobbing about in different places and I’m gonna stick to it. Rimmer.” Rimmer flicks his head up guiltily and Lister offers him an exhausted look. “You can’t just decide to only care about my health when it suits your trauma and really annoys me, alright?”

Rimmer frowns. “Why not?” he whinges - which is a surprise, because Lister was anticipating him latching onto the caring thing, and not getting much further.

Lister spreads his hands. “All or nothing, baby,” he says firmly and with cheer, and then shoots Rimmer a wink - which reminds him of the aforementioned caring thing, and sets him off sputtering.

“And - and I don’t care,” he manages in the end. “Watch me not caring, you odious toad.”

“Uh-huh,” Lister says, and then, when Rimmer chances a glance his way, blows him a kiss to make him go all red and cross. It’s really ridiculously endearing.

“This,” Rimmer says, pointing at him, “is a manifestation of my dreadful upbringing, and, and Stockholm syndrome, anyway.”

Lister manages a grin, and lets it go. As he slumps back into the sofa, he can’t help but wish that Rimmer wasn’t probably right - and not just because the man is obnoxious and intolerable on a good day, when he’s wrong - and failing that, that this Stockholm syndrome, this resolute and unbending care that humans apparently manifest for one another despite literally everything when there is nothing else in the universe except a few creeping lifeforms and the persistent love they put out like radiation from a life-destroying nuclear incident, touching everything and making it all complicated - he cannot help but wish that it wasn’t there, or that it was there more, or something. That Lister loved him less, or that Rimmer loved him more, or that there was anything, anything at all, that Lister could do to change that.

But there isn’t, and he hasn’t got a hope in hell of Rimmer ever acknowledging affection without yelling got you afterwards, so he’d better just - stop bothering, really. Lister sighs, and smoothes his shirt over his stomach. He doesn’t care that Rimmer doesn’t want to care. He’s fine about it.

He hears his own brain make the game show noise. In a fit of pique, he removes one vile sock and throws it into the cleared space designed for the cots, and tries not to think about the hair-pulling sense of satisfaction he gets from listening to Rimmer yell at him.

#apologies for the delay! as ever i am working on it all slowly #thanks for the prompt anon! hope u enjoy this slightly loose interpretation thereof #red dwarf #rimster #this is your captain speaking

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Paging Healer Malfoy // Chapter Four - Aftermath and Acceptance (D.M.)

A/N: CHAPTER FOUR! I struggled writing this, that’s why it’s so late and so short, I’m really sorry!! However, I do hope you enjoy!

Summary: Draco has something important to ask (Y/N), but will he work up the nerve to ask her?

Warnings: talk of grief and loss, mutual pining, swearing, mentions of food but no descriptive eating scenes, mentions of injuries, brief description of injuries, injured child BUT THERE IS FLUFF.

Word count: 3.7k

Prologue // Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three

Draco wakes to the smell of coffee and toast. He finds himself laid, curled up on his couch with a blanket covering him. He blinks once, twice – his eyes are crusty from the tears shed last night.

With a loaded sigh, Draco sits up, rubbing his face and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. He finds (Y/N) in the kitchen; her back to him as she butters the toast and makes two mugs of instant coffee.

Silently, she pushes Draco’s coffee towards him before taking a sip of her own. She watches him as he drinks; her keen eyes focused over the rim of her mug as she waits for him to break down again.

“I’m okay,” He whispers hoarsely.

Her eyes narrow; she doesn’t believe him, and he thinks that she’s probably right to not believe him. He shifts his gaze from her to the mug in his hands; staring down at the bitter liquid he relies so heavily on, “Really. I’m not going to break down again.”

(Y/N)’s mug clinks delicately as she places it back down on the counter, “Are you sure?”

Draco nods, “I’m sure.”

She sighs through her nose, “I’ve never seen you like that, Draco.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head, “Don’t be sorry, I’m just concerned.”

“It won’t happen again; yesterday took me by surprise.”

“I believe you.”

Draco meets her gaze; his blue eyes bright, “Thank you for staying.”

(Y/N) smiles, “You know I’m here for you.”

“I know,” Draco whispers; smiling smally at her.

Cold toast and lukewarm coffee is breakfast for them both; tired eyes crinkling in the corners as shy smiles are shared. Last night changed something between them, and they’re both aware of it. However, neither truly know how to approach it.

Draco finishes his piece of toast before asking, “Where did you sleep last night?”

(Y/N)’s face heats; something Draco hasn’t seen for a while; it took a lot to elicit such a reaction from her. She finishes chewing before replying, “You fell asleep on me. I ended up sleeping underneath you.”

Draco blushes from his neck to his hairline; he opens his mouth to apologise, but (Y/N) beats him to it, “Don’t apologise; I didn’t mind – you make quite the lovely blanket.”

Draco ducks his head; pleased to know that she didn’t mind sleeping with him.

(Y/N)’s eyes glance towards the clock, “Are you on today?”

Draco nods. (Y/N)’s eyes narrow once again, “Are you sure that’s wise?”

He sighs, “What happened last night won’t happen again. I need to work, (Y/N). Life doesn’t just stop.”

She frowns, “You’ll come get me though; if you need someone?”

Draco nods, “I promise.”

(Y/N) smiles, picking up her almost empty coffee cup, “We better head off soon.”

He sighs; he had hoped for more time with her, “Give me ten minutes to get dressed and we can go.”

---------

The break room is empty when they arrive at work meaning that they can pull on their lab coats and share a few minutes of silence before entering the fray, getting safely distracted for the rest of the day.

“Remember your promise,” (Y/N) reminds him, squeezing his hand.

He squeezes back, “I will. Are we meeting for lunch?”

She raises an eyebrow, “Are you buying?”

“I think I can manage that.”

She laughs; letting his hand drop. Draco feels suddenly cold. Her eyes shine with mischief as she answers, “I’ll come find you when I’m free.”

“I look forward to it.”

Draco gives himself a moment after (Y/N) leaves the break; he lets himself have a quiet moment to himself where he takes a few deep breaths and listens to the tinny sound of the now ancient television set in the corner of the room. Closing his eyes, Draco lets the monotonous tone of the muggle news anchor wash over him, calming his mind and his heart.

Readying himself for the pitying looks and the busy emergency room, Draco heads to the admit desk.

Vera greets Draco with a raised eyebrow and a question falling from her tongue, “Was that you and (Y/N) I saw walking in together?”

Draco rolls his eyes, “Yes, just like most shifts we share together.”

“You looked particularly cosy… and I couldn’t help but notice she was in the same clothes as yesterday.”

Draco meets Vera’s eyes, “She stayed over last night. I wasn’t in any place to be alone after what happened.”

Vera’s eyes fill with sympathy and sadness; she wraps Draco in a hug that has him fighting back tears for the pure fact that it reminds him of his mother’s hugs. Vera pats his back twice then letting him go; she wipes her eyes quickly before grabbing a chart from the side, “35 year old female; fainted in Diagon Alley.”

Draco takes the chart from her gratefully, “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

--------

He manages to keep himself distracted; he doesn’t overload on patients like he did yesterday, but he takes on a fair few that he knows he can handle with all the experience under his belt.

It keeps his body busy and his mind occupied; he cannot focus on grief if he is trying to figure out the cause of an otherwise healthy female’s loss of consciousness whilst out shopping with her mother-in-law. Draco has his suspicions that it’s down to the overbearing nature of said mother-in-law but at the pleading look in his patient’s eyes, he keeps her in for further observation – if only to give her a break.

He flits about from patient to patient; ordering tests and then handing out prescriptions. It’s days like this, when the load is heavy but manageable, that Draco is reminded of why he became a Healer in the first place. He loves to help people; it’s at the very centre of his being, but for so long, it was hidden by his teenaged cockiness and the insurmountable pressure from his family.

It’s days like these when Draco is reminded if the fact that he is a good Healer; that he is talented at what does and that is because of the Healers that trained him, but also of the staff he works with. Draco knows that he could only get so far without the help and support of those he works with, and it’s on days like this when he is forever grateful for the nurses that kick him up the arse when needs must.

-------

James Shannon approaches Draco as he sits at the admit desk, making the last few chart notes on patients discharged yesterday – something he chose to neglect due to his sour mood. James interrupts Draco’s reading with a cough, “Healer Malfoy?”

“James,” Draco greets, turning to face the trainee, “How can I help?”

James looks almost anxious as he asks, “What happened yesterday… with Violet, does it happen often?”

Draco sighs; expecting the question from at least one of the trainees, “No, it doesn’t happen often.”

James continues to watch him; hoping for a longer explanation. Draco huffs, “Through your career as a Healer, you are going to meet patients who come into the emergency room frequently. Take for example Mrs. Larkin who I’m sure you’ve met already,” At James’ nod, he carries on, “Mrs. Larkin very rarely needs medical treatment, James; she’s a lonely widow who needs company that she doesn’t get from the rest of her family. So we let her sit in an exam room; check her over and yes, over her multiple visits, a friendship develops.”

“Is that what happened with Violet?”

Draco frowns, “I was Violet’s primary physician and the one who diagnosed her kidney failure. When her fiancée was at work, I would sit with her through her dialysis for as long as I could. It was more a friendship of convenience, but a friendship nonetheless”

James nods, “I know that you’re my boss and I’m only a trainee, but I want to tell you this if I may?”

Draco raises an eyebrow; he can’t help but be sceptical as he murmurs, “Okay.”

James sighs, “It wasn’t your fault… what happened to her. Violet’s death wasn’t your fault and I know you feel guilty about it but there was nothing you could do, and I know Healer Thomas would have tried his hardest to bring her back. And I know what it feels like to feel guilt for someone else’s death – I lost my older sister when I was six.”

Guilt pools in Draco’s stomach for a second; it seems that he misjudged James due to the attention he gathered from (Y/N), but also of his status within the wizarding world. Draco berates himself internally; he should have known better; he knows full well what it’s like to be judged before your character is truly known by those around you. Draco looks over the young trainee and it becomes clear to Draco as to why James chose Healing as a profession; he would never be able to save his own sister, but maybe – just maybe, James might be able to save someone else’s.

Draco eventually nods; he stands, patting James on his shoulder, “Thank you, James. I think I needed to hear that.”

A small smile breaks across James’ face; he nods twice, happy to have helped his superior in anyway. He turns away, but pauses at the sound of Draco’s voice, “James?” James turns to face his boss who’s smiling at him, “I think you’re going to be a fine Healer.”

------

“Draco!” (Y/N) shouts; lab coat flying out behind her as she runs to his side.

Hastily, he turns to her. “What? What’s happened?” He asks, his voice laced with worry and concern; mind running through all possible scenarios for the reason as to why she’s shouting his name and running.

She pants slightly, sidling up next to him, “I heard it was paediatric.”

Draco nods; casting his gaze back out across the bay, counting down in his head for when the emergency transport should arrive. “What did they say?” (Y/N) asks; her focus sharpening.

“Six year old girl; bitten by a werewolf.”

(Y/N) lurches back in shock, gloves halfway on her hands, “What?”

Draco nods; confirming, “We get at least one around the full moon, you know that.”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Did they say how bad?”

Draco shakes his head, “They couldn’t tell us a lot other than it was bleeding a lot.”

(Y/N) sighs, “We need to keep this quiet, Draco. They’re lobbying a new decree in the ministry this week about lycanthropy.”

Draco doesn’t remove his gaze from the emergency bay; veins already thrumming with adrenaline, “Let’s treat the patient first. We’ll worry about politics later.”

-------

Six year old Ailsa is quiet as she is wheeled into the emergency room. Her eyes are wide as they take in the new environment, and she answers questions with the tiniest of sobs. Her mother follows behind; tears streaming down her face as she recites Ailsa’s allergies and any worries she has.

Ailsa flinches as the wound is cleaned. Draco realises upon examination that the bite isn’t too deep meaning that the chance of transmission has significantly lowered since Ailsa first arrived at St. Mungo’s.

(Y/N) arrives at Draco’s side immediately; the bottle of wolfsbane potion already uncorked and ready to be given to the patient. With a sorrowful smile, Draco says, “Ailsa, I’m going to need you to drink this. Now, it isn’t going to taste very nice, but, I happen to know that if you drink all of this, you can have some of the chocolate milk hidden away in the staff room.”

Ailsa’s nose crinkles. “Do I have to drink all of it?” She asks in a small voice; watching the vapour rise from the potion.

Draco chuckles, holding the potion out for her to drink, “If you want the chocolate milk, I’m afraid you have to.”

Fierce determination settles on Ailsa’s face as she takes the potion from Draco; she would get the promised chocolate milk and enjoy every drop. At her mother’s encouraging smile, Ailsa drinks down the potion, frowning heavily at the taste.

She holds up the empty bottle with a victorious grin, “Finished.”

Draco laughs, “Looks like we owe you chocolate milk, Ailsa.”

Ailsa nods happily; handing the empty bottle back to Draco. He takes a step back, “Good job, Ailsa. I’m going to go make a phone call and I’ll be right back with your chocolate milk. How does that sound?”

She nods once again; distracted by her mother wrapping her up in a hug. Draco smiles at the scene before leaving. (Y/N) follows him, waiting until they’re of earshot of the family before saying, “She’s going to be okay, isn’t she? We both saw the bite.”

Draco shrugs, “Truthfully, I don’t know,” He looks towards trauma one, “I really don’t know.”

(Y/N) sighs, “Well I hope so.”

Leaving (Y/N) to manage her own patients, Draco goes in search for a phone and Ailsa’s chocolate milk; happy to find the one in the break room free.

He rifles around in his wallet for the card handed to him by Harry not so long back; an idea forming in his mind. Balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear, Draco punches in the number, relieved to hear the dial tone. It rings four times before a weary voice answers, “Hello?”

“Hello. Is that Professor Lupin?” Draco asks; mind flickering back to his father’s treatment of the werewolf.

A slow chuckle answers, “I haven’t been a professor in over ten years. Who is this?”

“Draco Malfoy, sir.”

The line falls silent; Draco thinks that he’s hung up which is understandable really. Draco had been surprised when Harry, Ron and Hermione had forgiven him; he wouldn’t be surprised however, if Remus Lupin drops the line.

Minutes pass before Remus speaks up, “Draco Malfoy? I never thought I would hear from you. How did you get my number?”

Draco chuckles; half embarrassed, “Harry gave it to me, sir.”

“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’, Draco. Remus will do just fine.”

“Thank you, Remus. I was calling for your help with a patient.”

“A patient?” Remus asks; shock lacing his voice.

“Yes, I’m an attending in the emergency room at St. Mungo’s now,” Draco answers; unable to help the strong tone of pride in his voice – he would always be proud of his job and all that he has achieved so far through it.

Draco hears the surprised intake of breath by Remus, “That isn’t something I expected to hear.”

Draco shakes his head though Remus can’t see him, “I surprise everyone when they hear about my career choice.”

“Nevertheless,” Remus’ gravelly voice says over the line, “It’s an incredibly noble profession, Draco, and one I can only assume you excel at.”

“Thank you, Remus,” Draco says quietly; overcome by the kindness shown by one he treated so poorly.

“Now, you rang me for a reason. How can I help?”

Draco startles; remembering as to why he was on the phone to his old professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind speaking to a patient and her family. Harry gave me your card not long back and said that you offered advice to families who found themselves struggling with lycanthropy.”

Draco hears another surprised intake of breath, “What happened?”

“A six year old girl was bitten; her mother is worried that she’ll turn.”

“When was she bitten?” Remus asks urgently; voice serious.

Draco checks his chart, “Her mother says this morning; the werewolf broke in and got spooked by her daughter waking up to use the bathroom.”

Remus makes a sad noise on the end of the phone, “So similar to my own attack.”

Sadness washes over Draco; he had known the story of Remus’ bite – there were few in his parent’s social circle who didn’t know considering they all knew the werewolf who had turned him. Remus brings Draco back to the present, “The full moon waned last night; we were at our weakest last night so the bite should amount to nothing.”

Draco grips the receiver tighter in his hands; hope beginning to flicker in his chest, “And you’re sure of that?”

Remus sighs, “I’m not 100%, but we are always most vulnerable as the moon wanes and the bite so rarely takes when we’re weak.”

“What would recommend? I’ve already administered wolfsbane potion which the poor girl didn’t appreciate. I had to promise her chocolate milk to get through it.”

Remus chuckles, “No, I can’t imagine she did. You’ve covered yourselves with the wolfsbane potion; that’s good thinking, Draco. Other than that, it’s a waiting game.”

Draco sighs into the phone, “You’re certain she won’t turn this full moon if the bite has been successful?”

“She won’t turn now. The moon has left its apex; I can feel its strength leaving me as we speak.”

Draco huffs out a breath of relief; he won’t have a child werewolf running around his emergency room then. He has to ask, “What about next month?”

“That’s what we have to wait for.”

Draco nods then remembers that Remus can’t see him, “So I just need to tell the mother that it’s now a waiting game.”

“That’s right. However, if you have a spare wolfsbane potion, give it to the mother. That way, should her child turn, the potion will make her docile and less dangerous.”

Draco makes a note to do so on the girl’s chart. He holds the receiver close to his ear, “Remus, would you mind if I passed on your details to the mother? That way she can ring for advice should anything happen with the next moon.”

Draco can hear the sad smile in Remus’ voice, “Of course you can, Draco. Pass on my well wishes to the family, please.”

“Thank you, Remus. You’ve been a massive help.”

Remus’ voice is gentle as he says, “Anything I can do, Draco.”

Draco hangs up on his ex-professor; feeling hatred towards his younger self for being so naïve to believe his family’s prejudices towards those markedly different to them. Shame washes over him as he thinks of the things he had said about the well-mannered man, knowing he was within hearing distance. Grabbing a bottle of chocolate milk from the fridge, he makes a mental note to send a letter of apology with Harry the next time he was to visit his godson.

With the information from Remus, Draco asks Vera to grab another wolfsbane potion from the potion lock up. As she does that, Draco writes up the prescription and advice for Ailsa’s mother.

Wolfsbane potion in one hand and chocolate milk in the other, Draco returns to trauma one where Ailsa and her mother sit, chatting quietly. From looking at her, you wouldn’t have though that Ailsa had been bitten by anything larger than a small dog. Her attitude towards it had been entirely blasé and Draco couldn’t decide whether it was shock or simply Ailsa’s resilience making an appearance.

Draco smiles reassuring at Ailsa’s mother who stands when she notices Draco entering the room. He hands the chocolate milk to the child; her face lighting up at a promise fulfilled.

“I’m fairly confident that she will not turn into a werewolf. After examination, the wound was quite shallow. The issue is, we cannot be fully certain, so whilst Ailsa may not turn with this full moon – she could with the next. So, here is a wolfsbane potion to be given to her at the start of the week of the full moon. If Ailsa turns, the potion will keep her docile and make her less dangerous. However, I’d also like to give you the contact details of someone who can help should you have any worries.”

Ailsa’s mothers eyes shine with fresh tears as she whispers, “That would be so helpful. Thank you, Healer Malfoy.”

Draco nods; rifling for the small rectangular card in his pocket. “His name is Remus Lupin; he used to teach at Hogwarts, but now helps those come through the moon with as little damage as possible. This is his card, I’ve already rung ahead, he’s expecting your call should you have any worries. He also passes on his well wishes.”

Ailsa’s mother lets her tears fall as she takes the card from Draco. She reads over the fine print for a second before tucking it in her pocket, “And he’s good, you say?”

“He’s the best.”

--------

It takes Draco twelve hours to work up the nerve to ask (Y/N) to dinner. He thought about asking her at his flat, but tensions were high, and should she say no, it would make for an awkward commute to work. He felt there were opportunities all through their shared shift; as he poured their first coffees, at lunch when she kept stealing chips from his plate, as she consulted on a patient for him. He had countless opportunities, but he doesn’t grab at them; he just waits.

At the end of every shift they share, they always head home together, living on the same tube line. Their fingers brush every now and then; sending jolts of electricity through Draco’s veins. It takes every inch of his restraint not to pull her into a kiss as they walk to the tube station; everything about her drives him mad. She’s just finished working a twelve hour shift and yet, she’s as beautiful as she was this morning, sliding him a coffee over his breakfast counter.

Draco realises that he wants to wake to her making coffee for the rest of his life if she’ll have him.

The tube station looms in front of them. It’s now or never, Draco thinks to himself as he looks up to the timetable where it announces its three minutes until the next train.

“Do you want to grab dinner some time?” He asks suddenly, swivelling on the spot to face her, “With me, alone, outside of the hospital,” He adds on for awkward clarification.

“Don’t ask me to dinner because of your grief, Malfoy,” She warns; voice filling with emotion.

Draco shakes his head; a small smile gracing his lips, “It isn’t that. I’m asking you to dinner because I want to date you.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “Oh.”

“So… not out of grief, not out of thanks – out of the fact that I like you, a lot, would you like to get dinner with me?”

(Y/N) beams at him; the sight of him leaving him breathless, “Yes, I would like to get dinner with you.”

*******

Paging Healer Malfoy taglist: @sycathorn-slush @obsessedwithrandomthings @kpopgirlbtssvt @kalimagik @brycelahelalover @fallinallinmendes @mischi3f-manag3d @remmysrecs @willowbleedsonpaper @nao-cchi @haphazardhufflepuff @soundsquid27 @mytreec @maydillydally @chaoticgirl04 @pregnant-piggy @rhyxn @acciotwinz @birdie-writes @reaganwonders @chanelwonders @izzytheninja @ravenclawbitch426 @ohissandhalasta @missmulti @nebulablakemurphy @pointlesscoconut @cherrylita @harpersmariano @slytherinlovesgryffindor @falconfeather23435 @namoreno

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @sophia-gwendolyn @ravenclawbitch426

**if your username is in bold, I was unable to tag you.

233 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

-----------------------------------------

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

------------------------------------------

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

---------------------------------------------

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

--------------------------------------------------------

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #trans duck newton #reader request #meet ugly #boxer au

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n3rdybird · 3 years

Text

Healing Touch

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan‘s Hamilton Lyric challenge! This story went through so many re-writes and changes, god I hope this mangled mess is okay, haha. My prompt was the line “My name’s been through a lot. I can take it.”

Vikings

HeahmundxReader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Some blood, talk about Church, self-flagellation etc (referenced, not described in depth) suggestive language, oogling a man of the church (haha)

Gossip was always a funny thing in small villages. Perhaps you had not been thinking clear when you established your home on the edge of the holy town of Sherborn. Nestled in the woods near a stream, you were both close enough to the town to visit for supplies but far enough away that your arrival stirred up a bit of mystery.

As an unmarried woman with no known family, you already raised a few brows of the more prominent families. But it was your talent for herbalism that set most of the tongues wagging. The smallfolk were more pragmatic towards your skills. They could overlook your marital status if it meant well-made salves and tonic for their aches and illnesses. With their payments, usually traded goods that you could not make yourself, and the bounty of the forest, you rarely had any need to visit the town marketplace. Which only furthered the mystique around you.

When you did grace the town with your presence, most of the townsfolk gave you a wide berth, allowing you to shop in peace. Even the merchants seemed to deal in your favor, giving you more than was due for your wares. You heard the rumors. Half the town believed that you were a cunning woman and would bring misfortune to any who wronged you. The other half sang your praises, that you were even more skilled than the clergy.

So it was to your great surprise as you kneeled to rearrange your parcels in your basket that a shadow loomed over you. You glanced upward, schooling your features as you saw the Bishop of Sherborne himself, Heahmund, standing over you.

You nodded your head in greeting before standing, slinging your basket over your shoulder. The bishop was a popular man, known for his devotion to God as well as to the sword. And lesser-known, his propensity for women. Mostly gossip, but living as you had, you knew there was at least a kernel of truth to any rumor. His handsome face did not help, nor the way his stubble gave him a rakish air. He was a far cry from the average holy man, fat and week from a sedentary lifestyle.

“Your Grace,” you greeted and dipped into a shallow curtsey, giving the most powerful man in Sherborne due deference for his position.

“You know who I am?” he asked.

“Of course. One could scarcely live in Sherborne without knowing of its Bishop,” you answered.

He nodded in agreement, before gesturing for you to walk with him.

“Please allow me to escort you home if you are finished for the day,” he offered.

You had no intention of spending any considerable time with the church official, but you erred on the side of caution and walked in step next to him.

“I apologize for not making my acquaintance sooner, I meet most of my parishioners on Sundays for mass,” he said, keeping his eyes forward.

You hummed noncommittally, but inside, you blanched. Heahmund's statement seemed polite on the surface, but you knew he was angling for an answer to why you had yet to make an appearance in church. In all honesty, it wasn’t that you weren’t Christian. You were, in your own way. It was the idea that one had to go to church to be considered religious that you didn’t agree with. So you had to pick your words carefully.

“Well then I am pleased that I’ve had the chance to meet you today,” you said, avoiding the point about the church, focusing on his former words rather than the latter. Heahmund cut his eyes towards you, clearly noting your evasion.

“Quite.” His tone was sharp and you felt as if you failed an unknown test.

The conversation dwindled to Heahmund telling bits of history about the town or gesturing to points of interest as the two of you left town. You were glad when you walked past the boundary of Sherborne. You were used to the curious stares when you were alone, but with the Bishop as company, it seemed the gazes were amplified. The gossip mill would soon be in a frenzy. The path home took you past the open fields and into the shaded forest along a winding path.

“Living alone, so far from town, must worry you,” he noted.

“Why would I be worried?”

“Well a woman such as yourself, living alone. You would be far better protected living in town. Roaming bandits, animals, or even the occasional Viking incursion.”

“I worry as much as the next, I suppose, but living in town has never appealed to me. Not to mention it is easier to collect wild plants,” you explained.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your skills. Where did you learn?”

You paused your walk, noticing a crop of comfrey sprouting from the ground. You knelt in the dirt, brushing the purple buds with your fingertips. Too young. You’d have to wait a few more days to harvest. You stood up, wiping the dirt off your skirt. You glanced back at Heahmund who had stopped several paces away. He was watching you closely but looked away as soon as your gaze met his.

“Family mostly, I’ve never learned formally. I’ve found that there is much in nature that can help or hurt. It only takes a practiced hand to know the difference.”

Heahmund stiffened, his hand resting on his sword. His gaze turned to stone as he eyed you critically.

“And do you only heal? Or do you hurt? I admit this meeting was no coincidence. There have been rumors that reached my ears. Half the town believes you to be a cunning woman, a witch, and I do not suffer pagans under my watch.”

You swallowed. You shouldn’t have disregarded the gut feeling you had the moment he began speaking to you. If the Bishop found any fault in your words, he could kill you now and be firm in his belief that he was in the right in his duty as a man of God. There was no one around who could come to your aid, not that any would stand against the warrior.

“Do you deny it?”

“Perhaps you could tell me which rumors have graced your ears, so I may better defend myself.” The words you spoke were calm and confident, the complete opposite of how you were feeling. The sounds of the forest melted away and all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat as you tried to control your fear.

Heahmund tilted his head as if trying to suss out your guilt or innocence.

“‘Which’ rumors? You are aware of what people say about you?”

“My name’s been through a lot. I can take it. Women are always subjected to gossip, especially unmarried ones. I would be a fool to believe otherwise. I hardly see the point in trying to change someone’s opinion of me. People do not like to be wrong.”

“Lord Oswald has claimed that you hold dark influence over his daughter, causing her to act out and defy her father. And that you placed a curse upon him, causing illness.”

At the mention of the man, you clenched your fist. You had first met his daughter when she visited you, draped in a cloak to hide her face. The purple bruise that spread across her cheekbone like a wine stain caused your immediate hatred towards the man she called father. You may have let out a few choice curse words as you treated the abrasion and consoled the young woman.

“That man is a pig. I couldn't care less what he thought of me. As for his illness, perhaps he should be blaming his poor diet.”

“Lord Oswald is an upstanding and-”

“Upstanding? That man would sell his daughter to the vilest devil on earth if it meant he’d get more power!” You blurted the words out, angry that that man would be considered upstanding.

“His daughter is his by rights, and as such may marry her to a man of his choosing. That is the duty of daughters,” the Bishop intoned, repeating the words drilled into him by years of church teachings.

You scoffed at his words, biting back harsh curses. Duty, you’ve never cared for that word.

“Duty, what a hollow promise. Is it not a father’s duty to protect his daughter? And not to lay a hand on her in anger?”

Heahmund’s face softened at that particular bit of information.

“Did you place a curse on Oswald?” he asked again, his voice low and stern.

“I wouldn’t have to.�� That man will drink himself into an early grave,” you spat. You nodded to where his hand was still resting on the pommel of his sword.

“So what is your judgment? Is thinking a man worth less than a pile of shit enough to die? Or not congregating with hypocrites on Sunday who profess their goodness only to hit their wives or cheat on their husbands or sleep with clergymen? Are those my crimes?”

The last bit of course was aimed at the Bishop. He was taken aback by your words. He too knew the hypocrisy of humans, he had seen it firsthand in others and himself.

“Regardless of any sin committed, man can repent and ask forgiveness.” It was what he told himself every time he failed in his duty to God.

“But I am judged by the words of one man, and that’s enough to condemn me? And what of all the kind words said in my favor? Because they are from the smallfolk they aren’t as important? But as soon as someone with ‘prestige’ speaks horrible lies, you must come running to investigate. Like a trained hound set out by its masters.”

Dismissing the warrior bishop, you shook your head. Rigid, sanctimonious, and arrogant.

“If you are going to kill me, kill me. I do not wish to suffer your presence any longer.”

When Heahmund did not speak but removed his hand from his sword you gave him a terse nod.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, your Grace.”

Heahmund watched as you walked away, your skirts swishing behind you. You had spoken the truth. He had no interest in you until the upper echelon started their complaints. He was all but demanded to get to the bottom of it. As much as your words stung, you were correct. He could have denounced the hearsay as soon as they were spoken, owing to the fact that smallfolk all but revered you. So he bowed under the demands to keep his place secure.

You, however, were not what he expected. Young, unmarried, and striking. He thought you might be an older widow, with the talk of your skills. Instead he got you, a fiery, educated young woman, who wasn't afraid of speaking her mind. It was almost refreshing to have someone not fawn over him. Yes, you treated him with respect but did not trip over yourself to please him. You had no problem criticizing him.

He rubbed the pommel of his sword, worrying the raised designs with his thumb. You were interesting indeed.

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After you left the bishop to mull over your words, you had hurried home, half expecting him to come after you and take you in for your supposed crimes. When he did not follow, your steps became shaky and you found yourself stumbling into the small cottage you called home. You flung the latch closed and leaned against the door, trying to regain your wits.

You had been accused of crimes, as untrue as they were. The Bishop himself was sent to investigate. And you had thrown a tantrum, insulting him and his life. The next few days you did not venture far from your home, fearing retribution. You debated leaving your home, going to another area. But you tired of running away. As the days passed, you breathed a little easier. No one had come to take you away, and the smallfolk continued to do business with you.

After a particularly grueling morning over a cookfire, and setting a poor child’s broken arm, you were exhausted. With the hot sun overhead, you plucked at your tunic as it stuck to your skin. A dip in the water would do nicely.

Gathering your satchel and clad in a lightweight chemise, you began your trek to your preferred bathing spot. A small bend in the river where the water calmed and you could bathe in relative peace.

Placing your bag within reach of the water, you glance around before unlacing your chemise, letting it fall to your feet. The water was cool, refreshing on your overheated skin. You ducked under the water, brushing your wet locks away from your face. You wiped the water from your eyes before reaching for your soap to wash away the grime of the morning.

“Perhaps you are not a witch, but a water nymph from Greek stories,” a familiar voice called out. You spun and stared gobsmacked at the bishop sitting near the edge of the water. You bristled at the nerve of him openly staring as you bathed.

“Shouldn’t a man of the cloth look away when a woman is bathing?” you retorted, wishing for the first time that the water was not so clear.

“Ah, but you have already judged me a hypocrite, would that not be proving you wrong?” he replied but turned his head away from you.

You grumbled, a bit irritated that he had thrown your own words back in your face. Making your way to the shore, you all but snatched your chemise with outstretched fingertips, and dressed with haste.

“Is there something you need, your Grace?” you huffed out, irritated that he had spoiled your bath. You grabbed your satchel, swinging it wildly over your shoulder, hitting his chest with the soft leather. You immediately dropped your pack in alarm when he hissed in pain.

“I came to apologize,” he said between clenched teeth. “Would that be amiable, or would you prefer to hit me with your bag again?”

The weight of your bag should not have caused him any pain, especially if it caused him to grit his teeth. You peeled back his tunic and gasped at the sight of several scratches adorning his chest. Though most were superficial, a few deep welts drug across the expanse of his skin.

“What on earth happened?”

Heahmund jerked away from your grip.

“It’s nothing to worry about," he said, brushing off your concern.

“I’d ask you not to lie to me. Take off your shirt.”

When he didn’t follow your command you rolled your eyes.

“Lord save me from bullheaded men,” you muttered, reaching for his shirt.

“You can either take off your shirt, or I will cut it off. It matters not to me what you choose.”

Heahmund raised a brow at your demands and pulled his tunic over his head with a grunt of pain. Kneeling in front of him, you tried to not ogle the Bishop as you took in his wounds. Most were already scabbed over, others dark with crusted blood. You curled your lip in dismay. You traced your fingers over his skin, the newer cuts crossing over old scars. Some of the deeper gashes were warm to the touch, a sign of infection. You looked up, his eyes watching your hand as it moved across his chest before looking at you.

You pulled your hand away, clucking in a scolding manner. Rifling through your pouch, you pulled out a strip of cloth and some salve. You dipped the cloth into the cool water, wringing out the excess before blotting at the wounds.

“You would think someone with your knowledge would know to treat cuts, no matter how trivial,” you said, as you washed the crusted blood away. “You look like you got in a fight with a cat,” you joked.

“Thorns actually,” he amended. When you looked at him confused, he clarified.

“My self-penance, along with asking for your forgiveness.”

You paused in your ministrations, horrified at the thought.

“You believe God would want you to harm yourself to seek forgiveness?”

“It brings me clarity, to better understand what path God wishes me to take.”

You shook your head before reaching for the salve.

“What is there to understand? God gave us free will, for us to make the choices in our lives. Maybe making mistakes is part of his plan?” you said softly, applying the paste with deft fingers.

“I fear I make too many mistakes, stumble too often in my path,” Heahmund confessed.

“You were right. About Oswald and the rumors. His daughter confirmed it in confession. She was quite worried about you when she heard I came to visit you.”

You shook your head, sighing. The last thing you wanted was to cause more trouble for the young girl.

“I hope you told her she was not at fault. I can take care of myself. Please tell her not to worry.”

He took your hand in his, his calloused fingertips running along yours. Your hand was calloused, but not from holding a sword. You had burn scars from hot pots, tiny cuts from mishaps with knives. Your hand that he had accused of witchcraft and misdeeds was the hand that wiped away his blood and applied medicine, something he did not deserve. A healing hand.

“Choices and mistakes shape our lives, make us who we are. My life brought me here, to Sherborne. As your choices brought you to me. It was your choice to let, rather than kill or imprison me, something I am grateful for,” you said matter of fact.

Heahmund laughed.

“We shall see if that works in my favor. Provided you didn’t poison me,” he said, nodding towards his chest.

You rolled your eyes and licked your fingertip, still coated in salve. Heahmund’s eyebrows jumped in surprise at your action.

“Well if it were poison, now I would die as well. So fear not your Grace, you should be on the mend quickly,” you jested with a smile. Heahmund returned your smile with one of his own. You felt your stomach flutter at the expression on his face, and the threat of a blush warmed your neck.

He brought your hand up to his lips and planted a warm slow kiss on the back of your knuckles. The rough brush of his stubble sent a zip of desire down your spine. This was dangerous. This was a mistake in the making. But you found yourself caring little as you stared into his eyes.

“Please, allow me to repay you.”

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